


The Long Weekend

by Devereauxs_Disease



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Actually kind of serious fic? For me anyway, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hannibal offers to resolve them, Kinda, M/M, Mizumono AU, My spin on it has less stabbing, Will has a lot of unresolved feelings, and so much fucking talking, with a sleepover!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-07-04 08:17:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 42,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15837360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devereauxs_Disease/pseuds/Devereauxs_Disease
Summary: Feed your dogs, leave a note for Alana.It had been such a tempting offer, one that buzzed around in Will's mind. He responded on instinct, pressing his mouth to Hannibal's. Then, he ran for all he was worth...When Hannibal finally finds him, he makes a proposal: Spend one weekend together, and make a decision once and for all about his and Hannibal's fate. Can Will still play Hannibal to get the evidence he and Jack need? Or is he playing a new game now?





	1. Friday Evening

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first, and likely last, attempt at being semi-serious. I don't know how people do it! It started out as a literal dream I had and just ballooned from there.  
> But I would like to thank Wrath of the Stag, IshxAllxGood, Victorine, and Llewcie for patiently listening to me whine as I plodded through this story. Everything is written and it will update on Wednesdays. I hope someone out there likes it!  
> As always, my love and gratitude go to Gwilbers for being a wonderful person - fixing my mistakes and nudging me in the right direction.

          Will sat in a camping chair, Walmart shoppers wandering by him, staring at a wall of halogen lamps . He could buy one, buy a tent, a sleeping bag, even the nylon chair he was sitting on. He could put it on his credit card, run home, pack the dogs into his car and drive into Wolf Trap National Park. If he ditched the car properly and hiked in, staying along the creek and keeping to the tree line, he and the boys probably wouldn’t be found for months, years if he was lucky.

          _Feed your dogs, leave a note for Alana._

          Will let his head fall to his hands. Why had that sounded so good? There was something in Hannibal’s eyes, a plea, that had made Will’s chest burn hot and tight. Will felt his denial on his tongue, bitter and heavy as it waited to be unleashed. He’d set too many things in motion to be robbed of his catch now. Even if it meant denying himself along with Hannibal.  

          But he hadn’t said it. He’d leaned forward and pressed his mouth to Hannibal’s. The doctor was shocked by the action too, an eerie stillness settling into the man as Will brought his hands to Hannibal’s cheeks. It didn’t take long for Will to reel back, a breath, maybe two, but he knew the trap had been sprung too soon. He’d managed to snare them both instead of just the man before him.

          Hannibal had opened his mouth, raising a hand to Will as the empath scrambled backwards. If the doctor had wanted to immobilize Will, he could have, but instead he simply called after his stumbling form. Will could hear Hannibal’s voice as he raced for his car.

          His fingers didn’t seem to work, his vision was foggy. For a moment, Will wondered if Hannibal had drugged him again. But as he put miles and state lines between himself and the FBI’s most wanted serial killer, Will felt his systems come back online. He wasn’t drugged, just high on adrenaline, guilt, and something darker that tugged his blood south and made saliva pool in his mouth – it was a heady combination he was eager to be rid of.

          He raced into his house, letting out the dogs and slopping huge portions of food into each of their bowls. He wasn’t sure when he’d be back, when Hannibal, and later Jack, would come looking for him. It was better to let them glut themselves now and be sure their bellies were full until he could call Alana.

          Winston and Buster chased his car for nearly a mile as he pulled away from the house. He left all the lights on and the door wide open. An illuminated boat on the ocean for the dogs to return to, a shelter to keep them safe while he figured out what to do. If he went back tonight, he’d probably find a raccoon or two in his kitchen, but the dogs would have their beds and a familiar place to sleep.

          He’d driven aimlessly until he saw a Walmart sign glowing in the midst of a shopping center. They were open 24 hours and he was pretty sure they were warded to keep the likes of Hannibal Lecter from ever entering their doors. It would be a safe place to think. He needed to figure out what to tell Jack. What to tell Hannibal. What the hell to tell himself.

          Will dug his hands into his hair, tugging at the strands he snared. The sound of nylon shifting made him still, but he didn’t look up – there was no need to.

          “If you’re looking for conditioner, I believe that’s in aisle seven,” Hannibal said, his shiny loafers entering Will’s field of vision. “Though I don’t imagine my preferred brand is carried here.”

          “You found me fast.” Will mumbled, letting his fingers sink into his scalp.

          “Not as fast as I would have liked.” The camper chair beside his own shifted again. “Did you know there is a sale on boots at the Bass Pro Shop?”

          Will huffed a laugh. None of this was funny, none of it, but his mind couldn’t help but conjure an image of Hannibal carefully scrutinizing a pair of waterproof oilcloth boots, asking a befuddled teenage employee if they came in a fawn color.

          “They finally believe me.” Will said to his shoes. “Jack, Alana, everyone. They see you.”

          Hannibal scoffed, the shoes left Will’s sightline. “They may believe, but they don’t see, not really. You’ve replaced their image of me with that of a monster, but that’s hardly an accurate picture, is it?”

          Will looked up, sneering. “Yes, it is.”

          Hannibal tilted his head slightly. “Then you should call for help. Let the security guards here know the Chesapeake Ripper is encamped under a blue light, waiting for the halogen lamps to go two-for-one.”

          “You don’t think I won’t? I could call Jack right now-”

          “You could have called him when you left my home. You could have called him before you came to dinner,” Hannibal’s face remained a mask but the corner of his eye narrowed just a bit. “I can only assume it was his idea for you to kiss me? A clumsy step after such an elaborate seduction.”

          Will flushed, his mouth thinning to a firm line. It was most certainly not Jack’s idea, though he wished to Christ he could blame it on him. He looked at the floor, that tight feeling in his chest returning.

          “I suppose the dance of the seven veils would have been too obvious for even Uncle Jack, but I’m surprised you agreed to something so base.” Hannibal sat back in his chair, crossing his legs, looking like a monarch on a neon green throne.

          “You allowed it to happen,” Will accused. “You could have stopped me.”

          “I was curious.” Hannibal allotted, a minute nod of his head.

          “To see if I would go through with it?”

          “To see if you would enjoy it.”

          Will could feel his cheeks burning. “That doesn’t matter.”

          “Perhaps not to you, but it does to me,” Hannibal picked up a pool float box, a unicorn inflatable, and studied the image of the family on the front.

          “How?”

          “I feel conflicted over your allowing Ms. Lounds to live.” Hannibal’s finger traced the blonde hair of the little girl atop the unicorn. “It would be a bit of comfort to know that you felt some conflict about allowing me to die.”

          “No, not die.”

          Hannibal looked up, an amused expression. “Do you think Uncle Jack plans to take the Ripper alive?”

          “He does,” Will said fiercely. “I don’t want him to take your life.”

          “Just my freedom, then?” Hannibal sat the box back on the display, adjusting it so it was exactly centered. “Cruel boy, using your love to lure me into a cage.”

          “If you knew, why did you let me?”

          "You know the answer." Hannibal smiled. “I believe that’s why we’re sitting in the camping aisle.”

          Will opened his mouth to argue. But something cold stirred in the base of his brain. Something like animal panic. He might know the reason, and it was more frightening than he thought.

          “Why are you here?”

          “I’m waiting for you to make your decision.”

          “I made it.”

          Hannibal sat back in his chair, getting comfortable. “Then I suppose we’re waiting for the SWAT team.”

          Will scrounged in his pocket, pulling out his phone and scrolling to Jack’s number. Hannibal watched impassively. Will dialed, Hannibal’s face remained still.

          “Will. Will? Any news from Lecter?”

          Will watched Hannibal, eyes burning. “Had dinner with him.”

          “Anything we can move on?” Will’s heart was beating too fast, he was getting that drugged feeling again. “WILL. Do you have any evidence? Did he make any threats? I need something concrete.”

          Hannibal raised a hand, making vague stabbing motions in the air. He looked so fucking smug, so sure of himself. Will hated that he was right.

          “Not yet. But I’m working on an angle.”

          “You have until my dinner on Tuesday, the warrants should be in order then.”

          “And if they’re not?”

          “Let me worry about that.” Jack hung up the phone. Will stared at it.

          “If we’re to wait here until Tuesday, I think I would like to investigate another chair, perhaps the one with the built-in shade that reclines?” Hannibal struggled only slightly as he stood.

          “You’re so fucking sure aren’t you?” Will stood, lip curling. He clenched the phone in his hand trying to convince himself to redial.

          “Of myself? Usually. Of you? Never.” Hannibal raised an eyebrow. “But it’s fascinating to see what you do.”

          “I’ll call him back.”

          “You might.”

          Will let his head drop, just slightly. “Go. Just... go. Let Jack find you missing when he comes to dinner.”

          Hannibal tilted his head. “Will you be missing as well?”

          Will shook his head.

          Hannibal turned. “I’ll procure a cart, we’ll need it for the sundries.”

          The doctor hadn’t walked three steps before Will found himself following. That drugged feeling making the blood hammer in his ears. “Sundries?”

          “I think perhaps you operate more effectively on a deadline.” Hannibal selected a cart, grimacing slightly as he set his hand upon the sticky handle. “Jack has given you until Tuesday, I’ll give you until Monday night.”

          “To what?” Will fell into step behind Hannibal following him to the produce section. “Develop a taste for murder?”

          "That, you have." Hannibal regarded him for a long moment over a head of lettuce. “But I have other questions regarding your palate.”

          Will frowned, “And how will you determine my palate, Dr. Lecter?”

          Hannibal smiled, picking up a container of pomegranate seeds and considering it before placing it in the cart. “An extended observation, I think.”

          “Going to have me locked up again?”

          “No, I think you’ll find incarceration hurts both of us.” A few lemons and a bag of potatoes were added to the cart. “We are more interesting together than apart.”

          Will raised an eyebrow at this. The chill of the meat aisle made him shiver as they approached the bloody packages. “You want to give me a chance to test that theory?”

          “I will. On Monday, or at any moment when you decide my company has become tedious.” Hannibal was examining a duck breast, poking at it through the plastic. When he was satisfied, he added two to the cart. “Uncle Jack and your salvation are just a phone call away.”

          “You’ll just let me call. Take everything away from you?”

          “I let you call five minutes ago.” Hannibal steered them toward the clothing aisle. He studied a pair of plaid pajama pants. “Is your home cold or warm at night?”

          Will blinked.

          Hannibal blinked back, that amused expression curling at the very tip of his lips.

          “You’re suggesting a sleepover?”

          “If you’d like.” Will opened his mouth, but Hannibal held up a hand. “Nothing salacious, you understand, just some time, a few days for you to decide. Call it a long weekend, if you’d like.”

          “So… a timeout? We just pretend you’re not a cannibal and you try to woo me for a few days?” Will scrunched his brow.

          Hannibal smiled. “We won’t pretend anything. You did want honesty, did you not?”

          “I-”

          “I expect honesty from you as well, then.” Hannibal tossed a shirt into the cart along with the pants. 

          “What if I don’t decide in your favor?”

          “Then you and Jack will have the honor of catching the Ripper.”

          “Just like that?”

          “Just so.” Hannibal looked over his cart full of box-mart food and clothes. “Do you need anything? Perhaps a hairbrush?”

          “What if I call Jack back, right now?”

          “You’ve already put your phone away.” Hannibal tilted his head. “Must one have a membership card to shop here or may I check out?”

          Will looked at his empty hands. He didn’t remember pocketing his phone. He seemed to forget a lot of things when Hannibal was around.

          “Don’t worry yourself, Will, I’ll just ask the young lady snapping her chewing gum at the counter.” Hannibal spun the cart around and started for the checkout lanes, leaving Will clench his hands and stare at his feet.

          He should call Jack back. He should rush home and get his rifle. He should do anything but follow Hannibal to checkout lane three. He walked up to the doctor, letting his hand drop on the fine fabric that covered Hannibal’s shoulder.

          “I’ll see you at home.”

* * *

 

          The lights were still on and the doors still open when Will pulled into the drive. One dog laid on the porch and Will could guess its identity before he got close enough to see Winston’s sandy fur. The other dogs ran out, save for Buster, who Will presumed was likely passed out on the bed, exhausted after chasing the car.

          Buster was snoring on the bed, as predicted, and offered no welcome as Will tromped through the room. Will bent to let the others sniff his hands and lick his fingers, tasting his journey and probably his building anxiety. When they had finished their greeting, Will moved to the drawer where he kept the rifle’s bullets, emptying the box into his jacket pockets.

          There were no raccoons in the kitchen, but the air buzzed with mosquitos and flies. He had the odd urge to clean, run a cloth over every dingy surface before Hannibal arrived. He considered hanging some fly paper, but something about it seemed crass. He could see Hannibal’s mouth thinning as he regarded the spools of brown sticky paper hanging from the ceiling. Instead, Will closed the doors and took the dogs out for one last run. Buster remained on the bed, still snoring.

          The headlights from the Bentley drew the dogs from the woods. They circled around the car as it pulled to a stop behind Will’s. When Hannibal opened the door, he was greeted with yips and wagging tails – they remembered him. Will tried not to think too hard about the last treat Hannibal had brought them, or how he’d given up cleaning Mason’s blood from the wood floor and bought an area rug.

          Laden with Walmart bags and surrounded by dogs, Hannibal was an odd sight as he marched across the lawn toward Will’s house. Some sort of dark omen, bearing five-for-three lemons and a pack of store-brand underwear.

          “SWAT team had trouble finding the place?” He asked cheerfully, as he strode inside. Will frowned at him and reached into his pocket, the weight of his phone a small comfort as Hannibal breached his fort.

          Will stayed outside longer than necessary, the dogs had long abandoned him for the interloper, and frost was beginning to build on the grass and leaves. He watched for long minutes as Hannibal made himself at home, a blotch of black parading around the bright innards of his house, putting away groceries and unpacking bags.

          When he could feel fine tremors turning into outright shakes, Will relented and walked back into the house. Winston waited on the porch for him, following his master inside on uncertain paws.

          “It’s temporary.” Will wasn’t sure if it was a promise to himself or the dog. Before entering the house, Will opened his phone to a recording app, and hit the start button.

          It was annoying how effectively Hannibal had consumed his space. A fire was crackling happily in the living room, a steaming mug of spiced tea waited for him on the table, and the dogs milled around his legs as he carefully chopped something on the counter.

          “Make yourself at home,” Will said sourly. He clutched the tea in his cold hands, telling himself he wouldn’t drink it.

          “I have, thank you.” Hannibal turned to offer Will a smile. “Why are you carrying the bullets to your rifle with you?”

          “Seemed like a good idea.”

          “Did you think I’d attempt to shoot you?” Whatever Hannibal was chopping was scraped into a dish filled with liquids and vegetables. “Or were you planning on shooting me in the night?”

          “I thought it was a good idea to have the option.”

          “Feel free to put the bullets back in the drawer by the bed.” Hannibal waved a hand dismissively at Will. “I’ve no interest in firearms.”

          “Thanks.” Will sipped the tea, then paused. Hannibal knew where the bullets were. Hell, he probably knew every inch of the house. “How many times have you been here?”

          “Several.”

          “And how many of those times were invited?”

          “I looked after your dogs, if you recall.”

          “And looked in my drawers.”

          “I think it’s rather clear I have an interest in your drawers.”

          Will rolled his eyes and took another sip of tea, hoping it would cover the heat seeping into his cheeks.

          “I’ve prepped lunch and breakfast, if you’re amenable, I thought we could discuss a few things before bed.”

          Will waved his hand to his bed. Hannibal breezed by him and sat in one of the high-backed chairs Will had found along the highway. He’d spent a weekend fumigating the thing and installing a new leg. The stain in the new wood never quite matched the old, but it was close enough for his needs.

          “Why haven’t you called Jack, yet?”

          Will sat on the bed, holding the tea up between them. Hannibal’s face wavered in the steam.

          “Why haven’t you killed me yet?”

          “That, we both know the answer to.”

          “I don’t.”

          “Why did Jack tell you to kiss me, Will?”

          Will’s fingers tightened around the mug. In for a penny, in for a pound. “He didn’t.”

          Hannibal’s brows raised at this, and something close to genuine shock passed over his eyes before receding into the depths of his people suit. “An improvisation, then?”

          “A mistake.”

          Hannibal’s head moved almost imperceptibly, a nod. “Then we return to the initial question, I’m afraid: Why am I not in FBI custody?”

          “You’ve avoided it for years.”

          “And yet I could not avoid you.”

          “Does that make me skilled or you foolish?”

          This time, a smile lingered on Hannibal’s face. “I have a suspicion that both are true.”

          “Am I allowed to ask questions?”

          “You’re not a hostage, Will.”

          “A serial killer who framed me for murder is in my home.”

          Hannibal lifted his hands, palms turning up in his version of a _shit happens_ gesture.

          “Why are you here? Why aren’t you in Europe, eating fancy French people with capers and good wine?”

          Hannibal folded his hands in his lap. “You already know the answer.”

          “I don’t.”

          Hannibal settled back in the chair. “Fearing the answer and not knowing the answer are different, Will. You can’t keep feigning ignorance and professing to speak truth.”

          Will licked his lips, he took another long pull from his mug before setting it on the nightstand. His shaking fingers found Winston’s ear. “What are you hoping to gain by this, Hannibal?”

          “A choice.”

          “And if my choice disappoints you?”

          “I have only been disappointed in you once,” Hannibal’s fingers stiffened slightly.

          “Lounds.”

          “I admit I was unprepared for the… reaction that provoked.”

          “I betrayed you.”

          “I wonder if you did.”

          Will leaned forward. Winston licked his hand. “What?”

          “You’re aware of my sense of smell, you’re aware of my fondness for…certain scents,” Hannibal’s eyes crinkled. Will pictured the doctor, inhaling deeply whenever Will walked by him. “And yet you made no attempt to remove her scent from your person before coming to see me.”

          “It was a mistake.”

          “Was it? Or was it a cruel taunt?” Hannibal’s eyes seemed fathomless as he watched Will. The empath felt like an exposed nerve, bright and sensitive in the open air. “Did you want me to know of your betrayal, Will?”

          “No. I wanted to catch you.”

          Hannibal spread his hands. “And yet I am free.”

          “I- There’s nothing to prosecute. It’s all circumstantial.”

          “I helped you dispose of a body. I helped Abigail Hobbs as well, which I admitted to you. Surely you could use those?”

          “That’s not what I want.”

          “Shall I give you what you want?”

          Hannibal smiled, leaning forward. Will felt his whole body surge hot and cold as Hannibal’s face approached, inches from his own. He licked his lips, a blatant invitation for something he knew he shouldn’t want. Will leaned forward, just a fraction. Hannibal tilted his head down.

          “I, Doctor Hannibal Lecter, am the Chesapeake Ripper,” Hannibal addressed Will’s pocket. He looked up, eyes dancing as he watched Will tremble. “There. Surely even Jack could make something of that?”

          “I’m tired.” It was true. Will had never felt so bone tired in his life. Even when the encephalitis was burning his brain, chasing him through forests with specters of the man before him, he hadn’t felt so helplessly weary.

          “Yes, well, we have a whole weekend to look forward to, don’t we?” Hannibal moved back so quickly, Will felt dizzy in his absence. He watched as Hannibal fished a few items from a bag before turning to Will. “Would you mind terribly if I used the bathroom first?”

          Will made a sweeping motion with his hand. When the bathroom door clicked shut, he considered propping a chair against it and calling Jack. He got up, kicking off his shoes and padding quietly to the door. He could hear water running and the faint sound of scraping. It seemed so odd to think Hannibal Lecter did something as mundane as brushing his teeth. Of course, he’d need his teeth in good form to bite into all that human flesh he consumed…

          Will shook his head, starting when he realized his hand was resting on the door. He drew it back quickly, examining it as if it had been burned. Sticking his hand in his pocket he drew out his phone, it was still recording.

          Walking over to the bar, he poured himself a few fingers of whiskey, tossing it back as he thumbed through the recording’s play bar.

          _-at’s not what I want… Shall I give you what you want?_... _I, Doctor Hannibal Lecter, am the Chesapeake Ripper_ … _There. Surely Ja-_

          Will rewound it again.

_-want?...I, Doctor Hannibal Lecter, am the Chesapeake Ripper…Th-_

_Lecter, am the Chesapeake Ripper_

          Will stared at the recording, thumb hovering over it. It was certainly enough for a warrant.

          The door opened, and though he didn’t hear Hannibal in the room, he could feel his presence. “The bathroom is free.”

          Will hit _delete_ , pocketing his phone. “Yeah, thanks.”

          Brushing by Hannibal, Will caught the scent of chemically mint toothpaste and drugstore soap, it seemed wrong on Hannibal’s skin.

          He closed the bathroom door and locked it, immediately regretting the gesture. If Hannibal wanted to get in the room, a flimsy push-button lock wasn’t going to stop him. If anything, the action had probably brought that amused smirk back to the doctor’s soft lips.

          Will felt a surge of panic prickling at the back of his neck. Who the fuck cared what his lips felt like? And why had he deleted that fucking recording?

          Splashing water on his face, Will took out his toothbrush and tried to scrub the memory of Hannibal from his mouth. Hannibal would probably check his phone while Will slept. It was smart to get rid of the recording, he was just buying himself some time. He’d get a more thorough confession if he just played this out, anyway. He could call Jack the moment he got it.

          Will spat into the sink and rinsed his mouth. He kept his eyes down, focused on the tendrils of blue toothpaste inching toward the drain. He wasn’t sure he wanted to look in the mirror right now.

 


	2. Saturday Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A nightmare, a breakfast, a look at Hannibal's past.

          The Wendigo stood on the outskirts of his woods, antlers blending into the bare branches. Will ran for him, rifle brandished and snarling. But no matter how fast he ran, the creature was just out of range. Finally, lungs burning and feet torn raw from the frozen ground, Will dropped to his knees, raised his rifle, and aimed.

          The sound of the shot drove through him, reverberating in his skull. Will felt something clench in his gut as he dropped the rifle. The creature collapsed among the trees, its spindly limbs seeming to shatter from beneath it.

          _No_.

          Will lurched forward, forcing his bloody feet and aching body to run. He reached the Wendigo at the same moment as the Ravenstag. He looked at the great creature helplessly as it nosed the limp monster on the ground. Will fell upon it, fingers searching obsidian skin for a wound. The flesh was torn above the heart, great gouts of black seeping from the hole and running into the ground. Will clamped a hand over the wound, he could hear himself apologizing, trying to take back the bullet with murmured pleas.

          Above him, the Ravenstag faltered, its knees locking and then giving way. It hit the ground next to the Wendigo, its breathing labored. Will crawled over the Wendigo’s prone form, but he could see no wound to staunch on the stag. His hand dug into its feathered withers as he began to weep.

          The Wendigo grew cold and hard beneath Will’s fingers, turning to stone as Will begged it to live. The Ravenstag had stopped breathing as well, its great head falling to the ground beside the monster’s, their antlers intertwined.

          Will brought his hands to his face, the black blood of the Wendigo turning red as it flowed down his arm. Clutching his hair, he screamed.

          “Will.”

          The hands in his hair felt soothing, stroking through sweat-matted curls and rubbing at the base of his skull. Will lurched in bed, finding himself held firmly with a strong arm around his chest.

          “Will. Will, breathe.” Hannibal, Will realized. Hannibal behind him, breathing and not turned to stone. He could have wept. “Try to follow my breathing.”

          Hannibal’s chest pushed against Will’s back, a slow inhale. Will pulled air into his lungs in a panic, they were too full too fast and felt like they would burst. Hannibal’s hand found his sternum, pushing gently to guide the pace of his exhale. They sat in the dark, bodies rolling through inhales and exhales as one until Will felt the panic recede from his skin and he allowed himself to rest languidly against Hannibal’s chest.

          A few of the dogs had begun to poke at Will’s bare knees with their noses. Curious as to this new interloper and his business in Will’s bed when the nightmares came for him. Buster, unable to poke at much of anything from his low spot on the floor, jumped on the bed, hind legs scrabbling to help him heft himself onto the mattress. Once secure on the bed, Buster moved to Will, pawing at his leg to demand reassurance.

          Hannibal let out an amused huff, rocking Will, who was still draped across his chest. The doctor lowered his hands from Will’s chest to Buster’s head. Will watched the strong hands work carefully over Buster’s skull, teasing along ears and stroking under the chin. Those hands had snapped Mason Verger’s neck in seconds, they could probably crush Buster’s skull.

          Will sat up, the drugged feeling was back, but he felt calm. Hannibal offered him a towel. Will took it with a grunt, mopping at his head and neck. He looked at the clock: Three AM.

          “What didn’t you want, Will?”

          “Huh?”

          “You kept saying you didn’t want this.”

          Will closed his eyes, he thought of intertwined antlers. “I don’t remember.”

          Hannibal hummed. It was as close as he would probably get to saying _bullshit_ , and Will was grateful for that.

          “Well, whatever it is you don’t wish for, I hope you don’t dream of it again.” Hannibal stood, brushing off his cheap green plaid sleep pants. He walked back to the camping mattress on the floor and lowered himself onto it with more grace than anyone should be granted at three in the morning. The dogs milled around him, settling into their beds and nosing softly at the latest addition among them.

          “You don’t have to sleep there.” Will sounded hoarse.

          He could hear Hannibal turn, though he couldn’t see his eyes in the dark. “Where would you like me to sleep, Will?”

          “There’s a bedroom, upstairs.”

          “I’m content here. I assure you, I’ve slept in worse places.”

          Will squinted at the statement. He wanted to ask more, to poke around Hannibal’s mind, tearing down walls and trampling over carefully manicured thoughts as easily as the doctor did. But it was late, and he felt sleep pulling at him.

          “Dogs are going to bug you.” He mumbled, pulling the covers back over his body. The cooling sweat on his back made him shiver without Hannibal’s warmth to counteract it.

          “Only Buster,” said Hannibal. “But I think we’ve reached an accord.”

          Will drifted, smiling softly at the image of Hannibal and Buster wrestling for the camping mattress.

* * *

 

Will squinted into the morning sunlight, baring his teeth at the bright white light. He looked around, wondering why the dogs hadn’t nosed him awake. It was well past the time they usually went out. He sat up when he realized all the cushions were empty, even the one that had been occupied by Hannibal.

          He frowned at the empty camping mattress, stiff blanket neatly folded next to Will’s spare pillow. Hannibal’s absence unsettled him. He told himself it was because he was afraid the doctor was absconding before he could call Jack. He almost believed it in the early morning light.

          Grabbing a blanket from the bed to wrap around his shoulders, Will walked to the backdoor, where he heard a few yips and the odd howl. Hannibal stood in the yard, observing the dogs as they snuffled the ground. He smiled when Buster brought him a stick, gingerly taking it from the dog’s maw and tossing it a few feet away. Winston stuck to the tree line, watching as the rest of the pack chased Hannibal’s stick and nosed at dew-covered rocks, looking for small game.

          Will studied Hannibal, something about him was wrong. Unmindful of his boxers and undershirt, Will stepped out the door onto the porch, tilting his head as he took in the cannibal on his front lawn.

          Hannibal had put his suit pants and dress shirt back on. They were slightly less than immaculate now, creased after hours of wear and coated in a respectable amount of dog hair, but still well-fitting and elegant. Hannibal’s hair hung loose over his forehead, the gel long gone from the strands. A swath of dark stubble sat on the doctor’s jaw, silver in some spots. Will drew the blanket tighter around himself, wondering what Hannibal would look like with a full beard.     

          “I believe pants would be a more appropriate covering for the early morning frost,” Hannibal didn’t bother to turn to address him. Will was hardly surprised; the doctor had probably heard him wandering around before he opened the door.

          “I was wondering-” And then Will saw it. Hannibal’s sleek suit pants were neatly folded into clunky brown boots. “You’re wearing boots.”

          Hannibal finally turned. “I believe I told you of the sale at the Bass Pro Shop?”

          “You bought boots.”

          “Loafers seemed impractical. Your yard is muddy and calf skin is porous.” Hannibal lifted his foot, angling it into the sun. “These may not be… _quite_ to my taste, but they are remarkably warm and I have been assured that, apart from being extremely durable, Wolverine boots are also electrical hazard rated.”

          Will cocked his head. Hannibal was batshit crazy, but the man was never boring. “Good?”

          Hannibal lifted a shoulder slightly. “One never knows what the day will bring.”

          “Planning an electricity-based murder?”

          “Not at the moment.”

          Will walked inside, grabbing his dockers off the chair in the corner and slipping them on. He shoved his feet in some old work boots, ones that wouldn’t look out of place next to Hannibal’s, and returned to the porch.

          “Since you’re up, I would appreciate it if you would take over tossing duty.” Hannibal said, offering the stick to Will. “I would like to begin work on breakfast.”

          Will accepted the baton pass, chucking the stick as far into the yard as he could. This time Winston joined the pack in the chase. Will smiled to himself as he heard the sounds of pans being pulled from the cabinets.

* * *

 

          The smell of bacon brought the dogs in before Will called them. He followed behind, his own nose sniffing happily at the scent. He left his muddy boots by the door, next to Hannibal’s considerably neater set. Will wondered if he could think of an activity that would properly dirty up those work boots.

          Hannibal was in his element, even in Will’s utilitarian kitchen. He was using a spatula that he must have bought last night to flip thin pancakes over an assortment of toppings. It smelled heavenly. Will fought the urge walk up behind the doctor, offer him a hand in the kitchen. Hannibal wouldn’t need it, and Will didn’t need Hannibal knowing he had that impulse.

          Will slipped by Hannibal to open the cutlery drawer. He grabbed two sets of knives and forks and set the table. He returned to the cupboard to pull out two plain coffee mugs.

          “How do you take it?”

          Hannibal remained focused on the pan. “With dark cherries and some heavy cream.”

          Will sighed. “How do you take it when you’re in a normal person’s house?"

          Hannibal spared him a glance. “Am I in a normal person’s house?”

          “Creamer and sugar.” Will decided for him.

          “Just the cream, please.”

          “Don’t tell me – you’re sweet enough as it is.”

          Hannibal plated the pancake and smiled. “If you’d like to sample me to verify I’d be more than willing to-”

          “Fix the fucking breakfast.” Will slopped coffee into the mugs, careful to give himself the chipped one.

          He sat at the table and watched Hannibal work, a ballet of food and flame. It really was a shame he was an evil bastard, he had such a grace about him.

          Hannibal sat a plate in front of Will. “Egg, prosciutto, and cheddar crepes with shredded scallion.”

          Will grabbed for his fork, but forced himself to pause. “Pig-prosciutto, right?”

          “Unless Walmart has a far more interesting selection than I gave them credit for.”

          It smelled heavenly and Will felt drool pool in his mouth. The dogs edged closer to the table, he couldn’t blame them. “You know, we could have gotten a bacon egg and cheese biscuit at McDonald's and saved you the cleanup.”

          Hannibal sniffed, taking a sip of coffee. “Yes, well, perhaps for lunch I’ll attempt a McWhopper.”

          Will opened his mouth, but shook his head, cutting into the crepe instead. He made a little noise as he chewed, he couldn’t help it. Hannibal’s mouth coiled just slightly, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

          “Not bad.”

          “Please do tell the McDonald's manager that when he phones,” Hannibal said. “I hope you don’t mind, I listed you as a reference.”

          Will snorted softly, too busy eating to worry about Hannibal’s odd sense of humor.

* * *

 

          Hannibal stood at the sink, blithely scrubbing a pan. Hannibal's sleeves were folded neatly at his elbows as he worked, his bare feet tapped out a rhythm on the floor that Will couldn’t place. The image burned in Will’s chest. It was something he’d pictured dozens of times before he knew everything. Odd little snippets of dreams or fantasies that would flit through his head – Hannibal in his house; Hannibal performing domestic chores; Hannibal bumping Will’s hip with his own as he handed him a dish to dry.

          When he knew, when he finally saw, what disappointed Will the most was how little these images changed. Hannibal’s smile was just as warm. Hannibal’s hip felt just as solid against his own. Hannibal would dip the plates into a sink filled with blood and hand them to Will to dry. Will had waited for the feelings of dread – for the disgust – but found they never really formed. So instead he felt disgusted for their absence.

          “Is my dish washing that infuriating?” Hannibal looked up from the chipped mug, suds around his wrist.

          “I was just thinking.”

          “Ah,” Hannibal rinsed the mug, his thumb stroking over the chip.

          “You’re not going to analyze the crap out of that?” Will waved his hand in the air.

          “Do you want me to?” Hannibal turned off the water and dried the mug with a dish towel. “I’ll be happy to _analyze the crap_ out of anything you wish, Will.”

          Will let his hand drop to his side. Buster immediately left his post by Hannibal’s feet to inspect Will’s hand for any spec of food. Will thought about Hannibal on his camping mattress, surrounded by dogs – Will’s dogs. Thumbing the phone in his pocket, Will began recording.

          “What did you mean you’d slept in worse places?”

          “Buster and Harley were actually rather congenial bedmates, though you may want to check the diet of the large white one.” Hannibal toweled off his hands.

          “Evasive, Dr. Lecter.”

          Hannibal regarded Will quietly. He folded the towel into a neat rectangle before joining Will at the table. “I slept on the floor of my family’s wine cellar for three nights.”

          “Go on a bender?”

          “I was securing a man in the cellar. I wanted to make sure the gates held before leaving him.” Hannibal folded his hands before him, face blank.

          “First kill?”

          Hannibal pushed his lower lip upward, considering. “If I were to guess, I would say he was still alive.”

          Will squinted. Hannibal’s eyes narrowed in what passed for a smile on the doctor’s face.

          “How much food did you leave him?”

          “None.” The smile grew slightly, upending the very corners of his mouth. “But I left him with an extremely dutiful guardian.”

          “You hired someone to watch him? Is that what you did with Miriam Lass?”

          Hannibal did smile this time, and Will felt laughed at. “Do you think I employ minions, Will?”

          “So…who is the guardian?”

          “Family.”

          Will opened his mouth, but thought better of it. Hannibal’s sister was dead, he was almost positive that had been the truth. “Not your sister. Certainly not a parent at your age-”

          Hannibal’s mouth twisted in displeasure at the implication of his age.

          “A brother? Second cousin twice-removed? An adopted poodle?”

          “We grew up together. She valued the innocence and tragedy of Mischa, which is why she was so willing to aid me in this venture.”

          “Your sister.”

          Hannibal hummed.

          “So, this girl, this guardian, she plays sentry to the man who killed your sister?”

          “That is the mission she gave herself.”

          Will paused, teasing the words out in his mind. Hannibal rarely lied directly, but he also rarely said anything that had one meaning. “But why would you allow your sister’s killer to be in a cellar for years? Especially when you wouldn’t be there to enjoy it personally.”

          “Some people say long periods of incarceration are worse than a death sentence.” Hannibal looked at Will, amusement clear in his eyes. The doctor allowed his hand to fall palm up on the table. “Some get very upset when they’re incarcerated and lash out.”

          Will could feel himself grin. His eyes fell on the raised scars on Hannibal's wrist. Pride swelled his chest, slowed his breathing; Will reveled in the satisfaction it brought. Something was buzzing in the back of his brain, some glowing light of an idea quickly brightening.  “Some do, but this isn’t quite you, is it?”

          “I was fairly young, perhaps I hadn’t developed-”

          “This guardian, is she... righteous?” Will felt a tingle running through his brain.

          “She would have to be to stand guard over such a man without exacting revenge.” Hannibal leaned forward slightly. “Why?”

          “She doesn’t know at all does she?” Will's skin prickled as he met Hannibal's eyes. 

          “What doesn’t she know?” Will could hear the excitement tightening Hannibal’s voice.

          “That she’s not guarding Mischa’s killer.”

          Hannibal did smile then, utterly delighted. “What makes you say that, Will?”

          “The only thing better than condemning the killer to a life of hell would be killing him yourself, then offering this guardian an innocent man to blame…to see what she would do.”

          “You think me capable of that?”

          “I know you’re capable of that.” Will tilted his head. “Did she pass or fail your test by keeping him alive?”

          “My tests are rarely pass/fail.”

          “What happened to the man who hurt Mischa?”

          “It was faster than I would have liked.” Hannibal stretched his fingers before refolding them. “I was imprecise before medical school.”

          Will nodded. He felt a glow of satisfaction in his gut. He told himself it was because he had guessed correctly. “And the poor bastard in the cage?”

          “Hardly poor, though the other word might do.” Hannibal sniffed. “A gendarme who would look the other way when men preyed upon children – for a price.”

          Will smiled a little. “How old were you when you put this together?”

          “Nearly 17.”

          Will’s smile grew. “Precocious.”

          Hannibal dipped his head, a humble acknowledgement of his own genius.

          “Did you eat Mischa?”

          Hannibal’s eyes shot to his, attentive and curious. It was all the answer Will needed.

          “Do you think Mischa’s tragedy formed me into the man I am today?”

          Will laughed, his hand falling on Hannibal’s before he could stop it. He pulled his hand back, rubbing at the palm. Whether he was trying to rub Hannibal’s touch from his skin or into it was something he chose not to examine. “Nothing happened to you, Hannibal. You happened.”

          Hannibal smiled at this, his person suit falling away. The expression was all teeth and dangerous energy, but Will found himself returning the expression as his chest warmed. He felt the impulse to close the distance between them. To rest his hand back on the peak of Hannibal’s fingers. To lean over the table and –

          Will stood, rubbing more forcefully at his palm.

          “I’m going to let the dogs out for a run.” He kept his eyes down as he walked to the door.

          “Will?” He stopped in his tracks to look at Hannibal. “What would you have done?”

          “If you presented me with Mischa’s killer?”

          Hannibal nodded.

          Will turned his back on Hannibal, shoving his feet into his boots.

          “I would have killed him,” he said to the door.

          As he opened the door he heard Hannibal’s voice, warm and filled with pride. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Up: Basic boat maintenance with Will Graham...and a teeny bit of bloodshed.


	3. Saturday Afternoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will fixes a boat motor, but can he fix his feelings for Hannibal?

          Will tapped on the seawater pump, gnawing on his lip. He needed to replace it, the fuel filter, and the throttle cable if he was ever going to get the heap of metal on his table running again. It was nice to have a simple problem before him, once he could solve without bloodshed. He knew what to do, every step part of a clear enumerated list in his mind. But still he tapped, waiting.

          He felt Hannibal before he saw him, a change in the air that made the fine hairs on his neck and forearms stand. Will closed his eyes and let Hannibal’s current flow through him. How had he ever thought him just a man?

          “Is that a boat engine?” Hannibal’s breath caught Will’s ear, the doctor leaning close and pretending to study the machine’s innards.

          “Yeah.” Will turned, mindful to resist the impulse to lean into Hannibal’s looming presence. The doctor had stepped back, rolling up the sleeves on his dress shirt. “What are you doing?”

          “Assisting you.”

          “Do you know anything about engine repair?”

          Hannibal tilted his head. “I know a great deal about the mechanics of the brain.”

          Will snorted. “Are you sure about that? You’re kind of a shitty doctor.”

          The corners of Hannibal's eyes crinkled in faint amusement. “Only when I want to be.”

          “Lucky me.”

          “We could, perhaps, go fishing instead?” There was an odd note in Hannibal’s voice, it sounded like want. But that couldn’t be, want was a human emotion.

          “No.”

          “Why not?”

          Will had seen Hannibal in his river so many times, black-horned head emerging from the rapids. It was a nightmare, a dream – perhaps a fantasy – and Will wasn’t eager to discover what it meant to have the man himself wade into Will’s most private of sanctuaries. “Why do you care? You’re not the fishing type.”

          “You dreamed of taking Abigail fishing,” Will’s hands clenched at that calm voice saying her name. “Is it so odd to think I dreamed of you taking me as well?”

          “You don’t dream.” A sneer curved Will’s lip, he bent over the engine pretending to inspect the perfectly functioning crankshaft.

          Hannibal was hovering to his left, the devil on his shoulder. “I assure you we monsters are subject to the same flights of fancy as any man.”

          “Your flights of fancy are bloodier than most men, Dr. Lecter.”

          “Aren’t yours?”

          “How nakedly leading of you.”

          “Sometimes a direct approach is best.”

          “That was something Chilton would have asked me.”

          Hannibal huffed at that, shoulders drawing back. “He doesn’t ask questions, he merely offers pithy answers. Something he can scrawl in one of his banal little books in hopes that he’ll be invited on a talk show to discuss the mental health of a celebrity. He doesn’t care about the inner workings of the mind.”

          “Neither do I. I only care about the inner workings of this boat.” Will raised his hand, thumping Hannibal in the chest. “Philips head.”

          “Who?”

          Will ducked his head and laughed. “The screwdriver, doctor. The one with the little cross on the blade.”

          Hannibal picked up each implement as if they would strike him, taking pains to turn them carefully for examination. As Hannibal worked his way through the line of tools, Will reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He placed it between them on the worktable and tapped it to record.

          Handing Will the proper screwdriver, Hannibal leaned over the phone. “It’s 12:37pm. I’m in Wolf Trap, Virginia. My name is Dr. Hannibal Lecter.”

          Will’s mouth began to curve, but he forced it into a frown and glared at the doctor. His brain was no longer burning him alive, but he still felt adrift whenever Hannibal was concerned. As he began loosening screws, he applied firm pressure to the pump, twisting it slightly to help it release. Hannibal’s hands joined him, fingers skimming along his own. He thought of the doctor elbow deep in a body cavity in the back of an ambulance. There had been no benevolence that day – just a chance to show off his skill and perhaps ingratiate himself to the men who were still blindly searching for him. And yet there was unmistakable pride as Hannibal twisted the prone man’s organs to his will – denying death its prize. Hannibal’s every act was a gleeful defiance of god, saving life and taking it as the mood suited him.

          “Where was Miriam Lass?”

          Hannibal ran a finger along the edge of an exhaust valve. “Physically or mentally?”

          “I know where she was mentally, you brought me there, remember?”

          “As a matter of fact, I used a very different technique-”

          “Save that for the trial,” Will handed him the Philips head and the screws. “Where were you keeping her?”

          “For a time, where you found her.” Hannibal lined the screws up neatly on the nicked wood of Will’s work table, carefully pushing at them until they were precisely parallel. “For a time, I had her in my home in Baltimore.”

          “How many homes do you have?”

          “That I live in or that I use for…storage?”

          “How many do you have live girls living in?”

          “Just the one, at the moment.”

          Will felt his gut churn. He thought of shiny brown hair and a pretty smile that twisted to the right just slightly. “Alana doesn’t live with you.”

          Hannibal smiled, turning his dancing eyes to Will’s. “No, she does not.”

          Something flashed in his head. Blue eyes, wide and terrified. He shook the image away. “What? Who’s living with you?”

          “Unless someone is able to enter my mind palace, would they ever really live with me?” Hannibal tilted his head, placid as ever. Will rolled his eyes. Hannibal’s mouth curled. “I have several properties that I offer to visitors, one of the residents is a woman.”

          Will pushed at the relief he felt, unsatisfied when he realized it was more over Hannibal’s lack of romantic company rather than his lack of victims. “Hand me the adjustable wrench.”

          Hannibal’s hand hovered over the tools, fingers flexing slightly as he swept them over the metal objects. It looked like he was trying to draw the wrench to him through magnetism.

          “The one shaped like a _C_ – the little adjustable screw moves it up and down?”

          Hannibal’s hand fell on the wrench immediately – too quickly, for him to have just realized what it was. Will’s brow scrunched as Hannibal handed him the tool. He let his empathy reach out, tugging at the edges of what he’d just seen and trying to look behind Hannibal’s little performance.

          Beverly Katz’s precisely sectioned head, appeared in his mind’s eye. How clean and sterile each cut had been. She wasn’t butchered, but transformed. Hannibal had done what he always did with his displays – broken down the subject and exposed their core in visual metaphor. Beverly hadn’t been exposed as a pig, she’d been honored. Hannibal had carefully pulled her apart just as she did with crime scenes. There was no mocking to be found around Beverly Katz, just gruesome respect for a losing opponent.

          His mind kept pulling up her cross sections – those careful delicate slices. Not even Hannibal could achieve that with a scalpel.

          “You know what an adjustable wrench is.”

          “You’ve just told me.”

          “No,” Will shook his head. “You’ve been humoring me this whole time. You know your way around tools. The Ripper would have to.”

          Hannibal’s mouth curved into a small, pleased smile. He always seemed to wear that expression when Will pulled at the stitches of his person suit. “I know enough.”

          “Enough for you is too much for everyone else.” Hannibal huffed an amused breath. “You’ve got skills.”

          “I could probably build you a birdhouse, if called upon.”

          “Why pretend?”

          “With others, it’s part of my charm.” Will snorted. Hannibal spread his palms like a dealer at a blackjack table. “I’m a sophisticate who prefers composing and dressing in challenging color combinations, operating a table saw isn’t part of the aesthetic.”

          “Makes you less of a suspect,” Will allowed, before smiling slightly. “But why the façade with me?”

          “Perhaps I wanted to assess your skill level.”

          “Perhaps.” Will tilted his head. “Were you buttering me up?”

          “I prefer to baste with butter.”

          “You were, weren’t you?” Will sneered. “Did you think fumbling with screw drivers was going to endear you to me? What was the plan, you’d hand me incorrect tools until I was so charmed I agreed to run away?”

          Hannibal’s eyes narrowed just a fraction, Will’s mouth twisted into a cruel facsimile of a smile.

          “For someone so clever, this is almost sad.” Will waved the wrench at Hannibal. “Honestly, what were you going to do if this failed – wish on a star? Pick me some wildflowers? Are you always this transparen-”

           Will had moved to poke at Hannibal’s middle with the wrench but found himself painfully pinned to the bench. Hannibal was pressing on a pressure point in his wrist that made it impossible for his fingers to keep their grip on the wrench. As it clattered to the ground, Will noted dimly how close Hannibal was to him, his whole body pinioning his below it. Hannibal’s breath was on his face, it smelled of peppermint toothpaste and coffee.

          “Are you always this transparent when you attempt to provoke?”

          “Seems to work.” Will’s voice sounded breathless to his own ears. He decided it was due to Hannibal’s bulk pressing upon his solar plexus.

          “What was it you told Freddie Lounds?” Hannibal tilted his head, waiting for Will to meet his eyes. When Will did, he found them fathomless, the color of good whiskey and dried blood. “It's not very smart to piss off a guy who thinks about killing people for a living.”

          “You don’t just think about it.”

          “No,” Hannibal tilted his head. Will couldn’t look away from those eyes, there was something hidden in the fathoms staring back at him. “But that is part of the process I assure you.”

          “How much is improvisation; how much is planning?”

          Hannibal’s grip eased, but Will made no move to free himself.

          “It depends on the person.”

          “Tobias?”

          “Necessity.”

          “Froideveaux?”

          Hannibal twisted his mouth into a pained smile. “Franklyn was self-preservation.”

          “A-abigail?” The name felt bitter on Will's tongue.

          Hannibal smiled softly. “A verification.”

          “Of what?” Will leaned up, his lips curled.

          “Of whether you were choosing me or the chance of a life with her.”

          “So, you took one of my options away?” Will moved from under Hannibal then, needing air that didn’t smell like the doctor's cologne. “Hardly a fair decision if I only have one choice, is it?”

          “You have a myriad of choices, Will.” Hannibal turned to lean a hip against the bench, absently brushing at some bit of dust on his sleeve. “You’ve just failed to make any of them.”

          “You chose to kill Beverly.” It was a deflection, Will knew. He glanced at the phone, still recording beside them.

          “Did I?”

          “You sliced Beverly Katz like deli meat.” Will felt the tendons in his neck tighten. He forced himself to look at the engine, a problem he could solve. “How, _uh_ how did you do that?”

          “Kill her?”

          “Transform her.”

          Hannibal paused, studying Will. Keeping his eyes on the new seawater pump he had on the table, Will bit his lips. He hadn’t meant to say transform, had he? Mutilate. Hannibal had mutilated Beverly Katz.

          “The killing was quick,” Hannibal bent and picked the adjustable wrench up off the floor. He moved to the engine and began to work on the bolts. “After a brief struggle for her firearm I rendered her unconscious and asphyxiated her.”

          “Why didn’t you snap her neck like you did with Froideveaux and Verger?”

          Hannibal paused, mouth pursing. “It would have been difficult to cleanly cut through the body with fractured vertebrae, it could have caused the saw to jump or stall.”

          “You knew how you’d display her immediately?” Will sounded oddly aggitated, but chose to ignore it. He’d always thought Hannibal had taken more care and thought with his designs.

          “I know how I would display everyone I meet,” Hannibal jingled the washers and bolts in his hand. “It’s a mental exercise I find quite stimulating when I must talk to people. As my acquaintance grows, my plans can alter, but I always have a design in mind.”

          Will felt his breath catch. How had Hannibal wanted to display him? How had Will changed Hannibal’s design as their connection grew? His mouth was dry, he longed to peek into Hannibal’s mind for a glimpse of his fate. Will held his hand out for the bolts, his skin tingling when Hannibal placed the cool metal in his palm. “She get a shot off?”

          “Six, actually.” Hannibal smiled at the memory and Will realized in the doctor’s sick way, he was proud of Beverly. She had died well in his mind. Will found himself oddly comforted by the thought.

          Hannibal picked up the new seawater pump and fit it into the engine without being instructed. He plucked a washer and bolt from Will’s hand and began the process of putting it back together. “One shot ruined some flooring in my dining room, which you’ll be proud to know I replaced myself rather than explain to my contractor how a bullet hole marred my reclaimed floors.”

          Will felt a smile ghost over his face. Beverly had left a mark, one Hannibal had honored by fixing himself. “Is that why you sliced her up? She ruined your floors?”

          “You know why I dissected her.” Hannibal reached around Will to grab the screwdriver and began screwing the brace back into the engine.

          “Because she dissected things for a living.” Will watched Hannibal’s sure hands with the pump. “You love to reveal who your victims were, their dirty secrets. You mock the pigs you take.”

          “I do,” Hannibal sat the screwdriver down. “But I did not mock Beverly Katz.”

          Will felt the tendons in his neck tighten, the truth of Hannibal’s words squeezing into him. Beverly had been picked apart, made into a challenge that only someone with her keen skills could have solved. Will could feel the respect in the design, in Hannibal’s word. He hated himself for it. “You fucking ate her, just like the other pigs you slaughter.”

          “Pigs are for my feasts, I did not share Beverly’s kidney.”

          “So, what – you honored her?”

          “I claimed my prize from a hard fought victory and honored her sacrifice.”

          “Like you did with Mischa?”

          Hannibal’s head lifted a fraction – a microscopic assent.

          “Only jerks are for general consumption, huh?”

          “Do you name every fish you pull from the water?” Hannibal tilted his head. “Or do you save the naming for the white whale you’ve been hunting?”

          “I’m not going to thank you for killing her nicely.”

          “I wouldn't ask you to,” Hannibal said. “Just as I hope you won’t expect an apology for her slaughter.”

          He didn’t. He hadn’t. Will had known the type of beast he was dealing with the second it peered at him through the bars of Chilton’s cage. One couldn’t expect a lion to apologize to a zebra.

          Something roiled in Will’s gut. He knew this was wrong. He knew understanding Hannibal wasn’t a symptom of his own desires, but of his empathy disorder. He had clung to that idea for weeks. The dreams, the fantasies, the secret hopes – they were all just a quirk of his broken mind, nothing more. He was crazy, he’d have to be to see the beauty in that terrible mind.

          Hannibal was smiling, his fingers resting just beside Will’s on the workbench. Will’s hand twitched, he wanted to close the distance.

          Instead, he grabbed the screwdriver and lunged.

          There was no struggle. Hannibal happily fell prone against the bench, allowing Will to pin him. The doctor’s eyes flashed when cold metal was pressed into the soft meat of his neck, but he made no move to protect himself.

          “She was my friend,” Will hissed, scraping the filthy metal along Hannibal’s vulnerable skin.

          “I know, I liked her as well.” Hannibal sounded so genuinely sad. And Will realized that what made Hannibal monstrous wasn’t the killings it was being able to kill what he had affection for. “I was sorry you sent her to me.”

          Will pressed the steel in hard, the skin around the tip turning white. “I didn’t.”

          “You did,” Hannibal’s voice was choked, but still calm. The rest of his body offering no resistance.

          “I didn’t think-”

          Hannibal lunged forward, and Will had to relax his grip on the screwdriver or let the cannibal impale himself. The doctor was still beneath Will’s body, but his face was a breath away. The hand holding the screwdriver trembled finely, and Will wondered whether Hannibal could feel it on his neck.

          “You didn’t think with Beverly. You weren’t thinking with Abigail. You didn’t have control of your higher faculties when you laid Randall at my doorstep like an eager pet,” Hannibal taunted. Will’s fingers tightened on the screwdriver as he leaned into the doctor’s body. “How fascinating you are, Will, when you operate on instinct.” 

          Will increased the pressure on the screwdriver until he saw a bead of blood trickle from Hannibal’s neck. He snarled at Hannibal, two beasts panting into each other’s mouths. When his cock began to twitch and fill, Will dropped the screwdriver, shoving away from Hannibal. He turned to the barn door gasping for air that didn’t carry Hannibal’s scent.

          “Was it your instinct that released me just then?”

          Will stiffened his shoulders and turned, head high and cock still stiffening. “Fuck you.”

          Hannibal’s mouth quirked, he lifted his chin as he scented the air. When his eyes met Will’s again, they were blazing. Will knew arousal must be pouring off of him in waves, but Hannibal said nothing, merely tilted his head – it was as close to mercy as Will could hope for.

          “Since we’ve finished our task, I’ll prepare lunch.” Hannibal picked up the screwdriver from the floor and carefully rubbed the blood off the shaft with a rag before setting it back in Will’s toolbox.

          “I’m not hungry.”

          “Something light, then?” Hannibal mused. He went about his business, master of his domain, completely ignoring the blood trickling down his neck and the wild-eyed empath with a half hard dick panting in front of him. “Ricotta and honey sandwiches on oat bread?”

          The composure was worse than the monster. Will hated Hannibal’s person suit. He wanted to rip it at the seams, peel it back and expose the livewire of violence and emotions he knew lurked under the surface. “I’m not eating with you.”

          Hannibal nodded, understanding as always. “If you change your mind, it should be ready in a half hour.”

          “I won’t,” Will spat. He wouldn’t eat with that thing any longer. He wouldn’t pretend to tape it or play its little games. He had enough, he would call Jack and end this. End it before he did something stupid.

          “Just the same,” Hannibal breezed by Will, the scent of blood and cologne tickling the empath’s nose.

          Will waited until his cock had softened and breathing regulated before he moved. He grabbed the phone and thumbed the recording off. He played back a few minutes.

_-just like the other pigs you slaughter._

_Pigs are for my feasts, I did not share Beverly’s kidney._

_So, what – you honored her?_

_I claimed my prize from a hard-fought victory and honored her sacrifice._

_Like you did with Mischa? ...Only jerks are for general consumption, huh?_

_Do you name every fish you pull from the water?_

          Will grimaced, had he really sounded so breathless, so friendly? It had to be a mistake of the recording, he’d nearly killed Hannibal. And yet as he listened, he could hear it, the fondness, the affection – two monsters teasing at something bigger.

          One.

          One monster. Will shook his head. Hannibal was the monster. Will just had a knack for them. He was confused. All this time with Hannibal had just overstimulated his mind, that was all.

          His thumb hovered over the _delete_ button. Will frowned. He thumbed to his contacts and hit _dial_ instead. He just needed to clear his head, to talk to someone who wasn’t Hannibal fucking Lecter.

          “What is it?” Jack barked into the phone.

          “It’s Lecter.”

          “You have something?” It was amazing how quickly Jack could shift from aggressive annoyance to interest.

          “No.”

          There was a noise in the background. Will could barely make out a woman’s voice and coughing. “Then why am I talking to you?”

          “I-” Will wasn’t sure what to say, how to even explain any of this to Jack. Christ, how would it look if they brought it to trial? The defense attorneys and Freddie Lounds would both have a field day…

          “Will, are you in trouble?” It was the fatherly tone that Jack used on all the underlings.

          _Yes, I’m in terrible trouble, Jack_. Will’s mind screamed, but instead he muttered “No, just _uh,_ just seeing where we stand on Lecter.”

          “We’re going to get him.” Jack’s confidence did little to keep the slimy feeling from Will’s stomach. “Tuesday. Don’t you worry, Will.”

          “I-I’m not worried.”

          “Good.” Jack’s tone had warmed, pleased with Will’s acquiescence. “I’m going to make a whole exhibit about him in the Evil Minds Museum.”

          “He’d like that.” Hannibal would. He’d like the attention of being the most frightening thing in Jack’s museum of ghouls. He’d be as amused by the title as he was with all things formed from Jack’s blunt tool of a mind.

          Will found himself dreading the idea of Hannibal being pored over by tourists and pencil lickers. His horrifying, complex tangle of a mind being pounded flat and colored by the likes of Jack Crawford and Frederick Chilton – broken into teeny digestible bites to titillate.

          Will felt his lip curl. He could hear Jack talking, still. It seemed Jack was always talking.

          “Jack? I’ve got to go. Lunch is almost ready.”

          “Oh, alright.” Jack sounded concerned. Will felt a bolt of fear in his chest at the thought that Jack knew, that Jack would figure out what he was doing and come for them. “Will?”

          “Yeah?”

          “Don’t get yourself worked up. Lecter’s right where we want him.”

          “I know.” Will hung up the phone and thumbed back to his recordings. He deleted them before pocketing the cell and making his way to the house. He was getting hungry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Up: Two meals, some drinks, and the flagrant misuse of a shirt.


	4. Saturday Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two meals, a makeup, and Hannibal sets a trap of his own...

          Hannibal had smiled when Will entered the house, and the smile had stayed on his lips as he sat across from a glaring Will and tucked into his sandwich. They had eaten in silence; Will resentfully chewing on sweet slices of bread with decadent honey and ricotta, swallowing his approving noises with the bits of food. He hated Hannibal’s calm. He hated that it soothed him in some way. He hated that Hannibal made no attempt to broker peace or break the silence.

          When the plates were empty, Will grabbed them off the table before Hannibal could. He gave each a perfunctory wash and retreated to the living room. Pausing in front of his lures, Will turned abruptly, yanking a book from the table and flopping into the brown arm chair that offered him a glimpse into the kitchen. Hannibal stayed in the kitchen, prepping dinner. Will could hear the steady movements from the other room and caught peeks of activity whenever Hannibal strode by the door. He wanted to go into the kitchen and sit down at the table, wanted to watch Hannibal at his most graceful.

          But Will wasn’t going to skulk into the kitchen like a chastised puppy. He rolled his neck, settled into the chair, and pretended to read.

          After an hour, Will had read precisely three and a half sentences. Hannibal came into the room and quietly selected a book from the shelf. Will wanted to know which one, but he’d be damned if he was going to break this self-imposed silence.

          Hannibal wandered over to the tan chair by Will, seemingly unhurried in his movements, but Will smirked at his obvious trajectory. When Hannibal finally settled in the chair, he raised one leg to prop on the matching ottoman only to freeze when Buster hopped up on the cushion, spun three times, and flopped on his side. Buster wasn’t allowed on the ottoman, he used it as a higher ground to yap at the other dogs, but Will decided to allow it if it inconvenienced Hannibal. The doctor studied the dog for a moment, before smiling and reaching out to stroke a soft brown ear.

          Buster huffed and showed his belly. Hannibal smiled wider, offering a few scratches before leaning back into his chair and opening his book. Will crossed his legs, then shifted noisily and allowed his foot to drop, smacking on the floor. Hannibal’s eyes never left the page, moving methodically over the words. Every now and then, Hannibal’s lips would purse slightly, as if he were considering arguing with something he’d read. Will’s eyes caught on the minute movement each time, his mouth felt dry.

          Eventually, Will realized he’d been staring too long. There was no way Hannibal didn’t realize he was being scrutinized. That meant the annoying fuck was reading out of spite. Will huffed and turned a page in his book, glaring at the words. He counted to 30 in his head and turned another page.

          Will didn’t notice the touch at first, a gentle pressure just along the edge of his right foot. When the pressure increased incrementally, Will realized it wasn’t a dog. He looked down to find Hannibal’s left foot pressed up against his own.

          Hannibal’s eyes were still steadfastly on the page before him, moving with alacrity. But his foot, his fucking soft sock-clad foot, was pressing against Will’s bare skin. The warmth was intoxicating. Will wanted to rub his arch over the fine material of Hannibal’s sock, flex his toes around Hannibal’s instep.

          Will yanked his foot a few inches away and turned another page, frowning at the jumble of letters he had no interest in reading. The pressure returned in a few breaths, just as subtle, just as insistent. Looking up, Hannibal’s head was still down, but the very corner of his mouth hid a smile.

          Will fumed – at Hannibal for having the gall to think he could play footsie after a fight and at himself for wanting to smile back.

          This time, Will shoved the foot, snarling as he kept his eyes on the page. Hannibal’s foot retreated, for a moment. A soft _shushing_ sound reached Will’s ear and he looked up. Hannibal’s foot moved forward a few inches and froze. After a breath, is slid another few inches toward Will.

          “You’re a goddamn child,” Will said, pulling his legs up onto his chair.

          Hannibal looked up and smiled, his eyes sparkling.

          Will threw his book at him, his breath coming out in huffing laughs. Hannibal caught the book one handed and sat it beside Buster on the ottoman. Will rolled his eyes.

          “What are you reading?”

          Hannibal’s grin grew. “I haven’t a clue.”

          Will could feel his mouth stretching into a smile and decided not to fight the action.

* * *

 

          “You’re good at this.” Will hovered over Hannibal’s shoulder, watching the doctor wrap a piece of wire around a bunch of blue feathers. The tension was perfect – secure, but loose enough to allow some movement in the lure. Will leaned closer, the smell of Hannibal’s skin intensifying as he observed those steady hands.

          “I had to be to frame you.”

          Will barked a surprised laugh, his head dipping forward just shy of Hannibal’s shoulder. “I guess that’s true.”

          Hannibal turned and Will blinked, his brain doing some alarming calculations as to just how close he was to Hannibal. “What is the next step?”

          Will straightened, his head rushing at the sudden change in altitude. His cheek itched, he could still feel the warmth from Hannibal’s skin on it. “Uh, that’s the base. You basically just embellish from there depending on what you’re trying to catch.”

          “Tailor the lure to your prey?”

          “Yeah.”

          “And yet you never changed your cologne for me.” Hannibal turned back to his lure, studying it under Will’s magnifier.

          Will leaned closer again, voice dropping. “If I changed my cologne, you’d have known something was up.”

          Hannibal stilled. “What an intricate lure you crafted, Will.”

          Will’s teeth glinted when he smiled. “I gave you exactly what you wanted, Dr. Lecter. Enough improvements to see progress, and enough flaws to enjoy complaining about.”

          “How long did it take you to craft such a lure?”

          “I had time to think of the design in prison.”

          Hannibal hummed, his eyes dropping to the floor. “I suppose I should take care then, when I craft mine.”

          “Having difficulty getting a bite?” Will straightened again. What the fuck was he saying?

          “I’m nothing if not patient.” Hannibal bent toward Will. In a panic Will jolted backward, not sure what would happen if Hannibal touched him. If Hannibal noticed the evasion, he made no comment, only kept leaning toward the ground. His fingers snagged a clump of dog hair, shed by Winston, judging from the color. Righting himself, Hannibal attached the fur to the lure and began to wrap again. “This should at least earn a nibble from my tricky little fish, don’t you think?”

          Will laughed before he thought to stop the sound. “I think I should feed the dogs.”

          “I’ll join you; start dinner.”

          Will let Hannibal walk ahead of him to the kitchen, pausing when the doctor cleared the door to run his fingers gently over the lure he’d crafted.

* * *

 

          “Dogs need to go out again.” Will had fed the dogs then took up residence on the counter, watching as Hannibal patted the duck breast dry, rubbed it with spice and scored the skin. When Hannibal handed him a few cherries to wash, Will had eagerly taken up the task.

          “Yes, as I understand it, dogs cannot be trusted to operate a toilet.” Hannibal paused, considering. “Especially not Buster.”

          Will rolled his eyes, laying the clean cherries on a paper towel before shaking the droplets of water from his hands. He walked to the door to hop into his boots but paused when Hannibal made no move to join him. “You coming?”

          “I need to manage the stock and prepare dessert.”

          It stung like a rejection. “You’re just going to let me go off alone?”

          “This is not a hostage situation-”

          “I don’t remember extending you an invitation.” Will said sourly.

          Hannibal looked around the fridge door, one eyebrow high. “I don’t remember you attempting to expel me.”

          Will frowned at the truth of that. Had he offered any resistance to Hannibal’s presence? Had there been anything he wanted to resist? Hannibal emerged from the fridge with a head of lettuce, side stepping Will’s crisis as he washed his produce.

          “What if I get out the door and decide to take off in my car?”

          Hannibal shook the excess water from a head of lettuce before sinking a knife into it. “I think I’m blocking you, best to take the Bentley.”

          Winston whined softly and nosed at Will’s hand. Will ruffled his ear, not quite ready to allow Hannibal to stay in the kitchen. “I could call Jack while I’m on my walk.”

          Hannibal nodded, still slicing into the lettuce. Will felt like a toddler trying desperately to get attention from a distracted parent. He ducked his head to hide the color rising in his cheeks.

          Will whistled, opening the door for his dogs.

          “Will!” Hannibal looked up from chopping and flung something at the empath. For one heart-stopping second, Will knew it was a knife. He braced for the impact. When something dull hit his gut, Will clutched at it instinctively before looking uncomprehendingly at it and back at Hannibal. The doctor’s eyes crinkled at the edges. “You’ll need your phone if you’re going to call Jack.”

          Will blinked, his face heating more as he shoved the phone into his pocket.

          “Make sure you and the SWAT team are back by six!” Hannibal called as Will fled. “If you're late, the duck will be overcooked.”

          Will kicked the door shut behind him, hoping the action would make Hannibal frown as he chopped.

* * *

 

          Will stayed outside until his phone read 6:15, just to be obstinate. To his chagrin, Hannibal regarded him with a bemused expression when he entered the kitchen.

          “Sorry, we found a rabbit.” Will lied.

          “Did you?” Hannibal politely inquired. “And which one of you caught it?”

          “None. Harley got close.”

          Hannibal nodded as he thinly sliced the duck breast. “It’s a shame when natural hunters have their instincts blunted by domesticity.”

          Will flopped on his chair, quietly adding a few wildflowers he’d plucked to Hannibal’s arrangement on the table. “They have no need to hunt.”

          “True.” Hannibal sat a plate in front of Will before serving himself and taking his seat. “But the instinct is there no matter how fat and happy they’ve allowed themselves to become.”

          Hannibal reached out, his finger tracing the petal of the bloodroot Will had added to his centerpiece of root vegetables and mossy stones. Will felt his chest warm as he watched the doctor appreciatively study his additions. When Hannibal’s eyes caught Will’s, the empath dropped his gaze. He studied his plate instead.

          “What am I about to eat?”

          “Duck with cherry and red wine reduction. The spinach was wilted in duck fat, which was also added to the potatoes.”

          Will sank his knife into the flesh of the duck, watching as the meat tore under the barest pressure, still bloody looking from the sauce. He looked up, bite of flesh poised at his lips. “You bought red wine at Walmart?”

          Hannibal prepared his own bite of food. “I was unaware wine came in gallon jugs. Consider the savings!”

          The sharpness of the cherries cut through the fat of the duck and Will hummed as he chewed. “Even with jug wine, you make a damn fine meal, Doctor.”

          Hannibal winked, sinking his knife into the flesh before him.

* * *

 

          After their meal, Will insisted on scrubbing the dishes. His father had told him if a woman was kind enough to make a dinner for you, you’d best not let her clean up after. Will figured the same rule probably applied to cannibalistic serial killers.

          As he scrubbed, he heard Hannibal shuffle through the living room, donning his boots and coat. The doctor whistled once, and the dogs flocked to the door, paws tapping excitedly.

          Will looked down to see Winston still at his side, watching the others with interest. Will nudged the dog with his foot.

          “Go on, he just ate, I think you’re safe.”

          Winston looked up at Will for a long moment, then reluctantly padded to the front door. Will could hear Hannibal ushering the pack outside and then the muffled sounds of boot falls and barks. It all seemed so harmlessly, perfectly domestic. He’d had dreams like this a few times, waking up alone and wondering why Hannibal wasn’t with him for a few fevered moments.

          Shaking his head, Will scrubbed harder at the grease and shallot bits on the pan.

          Will had just moved to the living room when Hannibal returned with flushed cheeks and an armful of wood. Six dogs milled around his feet. “Buster seems to have found something of interest in the underbrush, but I’m sure he’ll be with us presently.”

          Cocking his head, Will gestured to the wood. “Where’d you find that?”

          “On the pile.”

          “You…” Will’s mind supplied him with a vision of Hannibal swinging an axe into the raw pieces of tree, precisely breaking the cross sections down. “You chopped wood.”

          “Axes are useful for more than just dismemberment.” Hannibal smiled, moving to the fireplace to stack the wood. Will watched with interest when the doctor began piling a few pieces on the andirons.

          “It’s strange to see you do human things.”

          Hannibal turned to raise a brow in Will’s direction. He reached into the kindling pouch by the pokers to retrieve a handful of dryer lint and a match. “Are you trying to call me extraordinary or monstrous?”

          Will grinned. “Yes, I believe, is the answer to that.”

          “Flatterer.” Hannibal dismissed, lighting the fire and rising when the flames took. He settled into a chair near the flames, watching Will.

          Still uncomfortable with the full brunt of Hannibal’s stare, Will ducked his head, moving to the front door. He whistled, shrill and loud. “BUSTER, COME!”

          The dog emerged from the tree line, little legs propelling him at an astounding speed. The terrier flew past Will, skidding slightly as he made a sharp turn for the fire and his customary cushion. The other dogs followed suit, settling on their beds around the crackling fire.

          Will decided to take a seat on the floor, back against his dresser, facing Hannibal. The doctor looked like a painting of a medieval lord, nobly reclined on his throne, faithful hunting dogs at his feet, skin kissed by fire.

          “So…” Will stretched his shoulders back. “What now? Polite conversation?”

          “Seen any good movies, lately?” Hannibal asked, crossing his legs.

          Will laughed lightly. “Not really.”

          “Hmmm, would you like to continue recording me?”

          Will shrugged, pulling out his phone and thumbing until it was recording.

          Hannibal watched politely, hands folded in his lap. “Which of my myriad of crimes would you like to discuss now?”

          “Why do you want me to go with you?”

          Hannibal tilted his head. “You know the answer to that.”

          “The jury might not.”

          “If you leave with me, I suspect they will.”

          Will felt his breath catch. He thought of TattleCrime headlines and gossipy coverage on cable news. If Will left, they would know. They would all know, what he’d been hiding for years, what he’d spent a lifetime burying. The thought of being picked apart by someone like Chilton made him sneer. Chilton, who would use the most salacious phrases he could think of to ensure he’d be invited back to the studio if and when Will and Hannibal were captured.

          Will thought of Alana, who would appear strained but beautiful on a news show. Perhaps she would tear up when the anchor asked her about her lost friend and boyfriend. He could picture headlines featuring her beautiful worried face: _My night with the Chesapeake Ripper_. Would Lounds or someone less scrupulous dig up Margot and harass her? 

          He couldn’t leave, it was out of the question, but he supposed it wouldn’t hurt to talk about it, hypothetically.

          “And when would you like us to leave?”

          “We could leave now, whenever you wish.” Hannibal leaned forward just slightly. “I’d like at least a few hours of notice so I may pack some proper traveling clothes.”

          “You’ll trust me now? Even after Lounds?”

          “I don’t require a sacrifice.”

          “What was Abigail, then, if not a sacrifice?”

          Hannibal stilled, watching Will. “She was Iphigenia.”

          “Who was a sacrifice.”

          “It was necessary act to bring Achilles to Troy.”

          “As I recall Achilles wanted no part of it.”

          “Perhaps not, but it did aid in his becoming.”

          “Is that all she was to you? A tool to bring me closer to whatever it is you think I am?”

          “She is the ideal daughter, dutifully ready to sacrifice should it help her father’s cause – a role she frequently played with the father you killed, if you remember.”

          “She didn’t deserve that she-”

          “She received the same fate as Iphigenia, one I would argue that she deserved.” Hannibal’s eyes danced. Will didn’t see what was so fucking amusing about this.

          “She wasn’t… She was a good person.”

          “In your head, I believe she was.”

          “What the fuck does that mean?”

          “Good and evil aren’t words that describe people, Will. Isn’t that why you balked at Uncle Jack’s Evil Minds museum? Good and evil are the words we use when we don’t want to examine the subject.” Hannibal leaned forward, head tilted.

          “I knew the subject,” Will could feel his nails digging into his palms. He wanted to hit Hannibal, call Jack and rid himself of this calamity in his home before he had to listen to anymore.

          “Did you?” It was the therapist tone and Will felt the cartilage in his knuckles groan as he tightened his fists. “Can you tell me who Abigail Hobbs was, Will? Or can you only tell me of the version you wanted to teach to fish? The version that still resides somewhere in your mind palace.”

          “No-”

          “She lured young girls to their death. She ate their flesh and reclined on pillows stuffed with their hair.” Hannibal’s voice was even. These were merely facts. Abigail Hobbs was at best an accomplice to her father. Hannibal Lecter killed and ate people. Will Graham loved them both.

          Will shook his head, these were not his facts, they were Hannibal’s facts. He needed them to be.

          “No, that wasn’t-”

          “When given the chance, she killed on her own and hid the body.”

          “She was afraid,” Will released his hands to drive them over his face in a harsh rub. The sensation didn’t sharpen his thoughts as well as he’d like. “She wouldn’t have made that choice if-”

          “Abigail’s problem was never making choices, Will.” Will peered through his fingers at the hint of annoyance that colored the professional tone. “That is your failing. Abigail was decisive in her action.”

          “And how did you reward her? The same way her father did.” It was an evasion. Afraid of losing the argument, he pressed his thumb in the wound both he and Hannibal carry.

          “Were we not both her fathers, you and I?”

          “You slaughtered her.”

          Hannibal’s breath caught for a half a heartbeat. Will watched the doctor’s face, he looked as if he were debating something. “I slaughtered the deer so that Achilles could move forward in battle.”

          “She wasn’t a sacred deer, Hannibal.”

          “She was to you. She was a simplistic iconography for innocence. Something your mind could cling to instead of discerning the real image.”

          Will closed his eyes and saw blue eyes surrounded by freckles. Doe eyes. “She was good.”

          “I have no doubt you believe that. As you believe yourself to be. It’s why we’re here.”

          Will stood, the dogs trailing behind him as he lapped the room. He wasn’t a good man, but he wasn’t a bad one. Not yet.

          “We’re here because I haven’t gotten enough to convict you yet!”

          “You’ve been recording all day. Surely my admission of Miss Lass’s kidnapping or Ms. Katz’s demise should have at least partially recorded.”

          Will shook his head.

          “I wonder, Will, when you’ll get what you deem enough. How long can you keep convincing yourself it’s righteous to keep me here, hitting delete on your recordings until you get precisely what you want.” Hannibal folded his hands. “Abigail wasn’t the deer I slaughtered, Will. She wasn’t a deer at all. When you dream, do you see yourself as a deer? Or perhaps something darker?”

          Will lunged, his hand wrapping around Hannibal’s throat. It was a clumsy attack, one Hannibal should have easily deflected, but the doctor remained still. Will tightened his grip, snarling at the faint smile on Hannibal’s lips. “I only see the son of a bitch who killed her.”

          “Do you?” Hannibal tilted his head, his voice just a little breathy under the pressure of Will’s hand.

          Will released him, his hand warm and tingling from the stubble on Hannibal’s neck. He stared at his palm, expecting a rash, something to explain the heat radiating down his arm. He felt an impulse to lick it, to taste the sweat and dirt that must have been accrued over the day.

          “I need a drink.” Will moved to the bar, wiping his hand on his pants.

          Hannibal brought his hand to his neck, a faint smile in his eyes. “I’ll have one as well, if you’ll be so kind.”

          Will grabbed the cheapest bottle he had – whiskey for getting drunk. Hannibal didn’t deserve the good stuff. Although, Will cast a glance back at Hannibal, he supposed even his most expensive bottle he owned would seem like bargain liquor to the doctor.

          Dipping his fingers into two tumblers, just daring Hannibal to correct him on his glass carrying method, Will returned to the fire with the bottle. He proffered a glass to Hannibal, who removed it from his finger without even a grimace of distaste.

          Will settled on the floor by the fire, back propped against the warm stones. The dogs nosed at his position before settling around him. Will unscrewed the cap on the whiskey and poured a few fingers in Hannibal’s awaiting glass.

          He poured himself a good fist’s worth of whiskey.

          “Shall we toast?”

          “To the eventual capture of the Chesapeake Ripper.”

          Hannibal tilted his head, amused as always. “To an ending and a new beginning, then?”

          Will felt his lip curl even as his brain riled at Hannibal’s amusement. He rerouted his smile into a sneer, raising his glass again. “To Beverly Katz and Abigail Hobbs, stolen from this world.”

          Hannibal had no discernable reaction to the words but raised his glass. “To the memory of Beverly Katz and the life of Abigail Hobbs.”

          Will frowned at the toast and downed his drink in one pull anyway. The cheap booze burned his throat, but Will embraced the feeling. Hannibal raised a brow but merely sipped at his glass. Will took a grim satisfaction at watching the corners of Hannibal’s mouth pull back in a rictus of a gag.

          Pouring himself another round, Will tossed it back without offering another toast. They’d be here all night if he raised a glass to every one of Hannibal’s victims. He was contemplating a third round when a hand touched his knee.

          Will froze, fever warm and heart rabbiting. Hannibal had slid to the floor, several of the dogs lifted their head to watch him.

          “If you would be so kind,” Hannibal held out his glass. Will filled it in a daze, Hannibal was so close, he was so very, very close. “Thank you.”

          Hannibal moved back, settling at the base of the arm chair. He was less than five feet away, but Will felt cold when the doctor moved. Rather than dwell on the fluctuating temperature in his house, Will poured himself another finger or four.

          “Where would we go?”

          Hannibal was watching the flames but turned to Will with an eyebrow raised. “Wherever you wish.”

          Will wished for liquid courage, so he swallowed down his whiskey. This time, it went down smooth as silk, and Will noticed Hannibal’s grimace lessen as he sipped. “Where would we go if we didn’t make dinner Tuesday?”

          Hannibal looked up, his amber eyes seemed to flicker in the fire light. “Florence.”

          Will hummed, amused. “I would have guessed Paris.”

          “Paris is not devoid of charms, but Florence is where I became a man.”

          Will lolled his head up to look at Hannibal, eyebrow raised.

          “That’s not what I’m speaking of,” Hannibal took another sip then smiled into his glass. “Though I suppose that is true as well.”

          “I would take you to the backseat of Sheryl Riley’s Chevy.” Will said, he felt so warm, the need to sprawl making his limbs liquid. His calf stretched across the room, nudging Hannibal’s boot. “That’s where I became a man – twice, actually.”

          Hannibal raised his glass. “I’m sure the sights there would rival those I would show you.”

          “I have a feeling those sights aren’t anything like the one you want to show me.”

          Hannibal wet his lips. Will mirrored the action. It was warm, too warm. He wondered if Hannibal felt as fevered as he did. Pitching forward, Will crawled across the floor, hovering over Hannibal. The doctor had traced every movement with interest but made no move to touch the man who loomed above him.

          “I’m attracted to women, Hannibal.”

          “I presumed as much when you told me of kissing Alana.”

          Hannibal’s breath smelled of cheap hooch and warm cinnamon. It bathed over Will’s face and the empath fought to remain still. His tongue flicked out, catching Hannibal’s breath as it fell upon his lips.

          “I’m not attracted to men,” Will declared sullenly. He swayed under the weight of his body, propping a hand on Hannibal’s shoulder to keep himself steady.

          “But are you attracted to me?” Hannibal’s head tilted, those slick lips catching the firelight again. Will moved forward bringing heavy fingers to Hannibal’s lips. He pulled at the wet flesh of Hannibal’s mouth, the tips of his fingers dipping just beyond the lips to touch sharp teeth. Hannibal remained still, his eyes burning bright as Will toyed with him.

          “No.” It was an automatic response. He wasn’t attracted to men. And while Will may have classified Hannibal as something other than a mere man in his mind, _no_ was the safe response.

          This close, the scent of Hannibal was nearly overpowering. Will could still catch traces of expensive aftershave, some blend of tobacco leaves, spice, and a hint of citrus that made the empath think of gentlemen’s clubs with dark wooden paneling, leather chairs, and the scent of pipe smoke. More prevalent than the aftershave, however, was the scent of fire-warmed skin. The flames had made Hannibal smell warm and base, with just a hint of sharp sweat. Will wondered if he could taste the salt on Hannibal’s skin.  

          Hannibal’s teeth caught the tip of Will’s finger, sharp edges digging into the flesh as his lips wrapped around the knuckle to suck. Will’s breath caught, making an obscene noise in his throat as he watched Hannibal’s mouth pull at him. When the doctor’s tongue flicked experimentally over the pad of Will’s finger, the empath ripped it from Hannibal’s mouth.

          “I’m- no, n-no.” Will barreled backwards on unsteady limbs. Fighting to get to his feet he ran to the bathroom in a panic. Hannibal made no move but turning his head to watch Will flee.

          In the safety of the small bathroom with the harsh white bulb burning the fog of whiskey from his brain, Will let himself breathe again. He pressed against the sink, his hard cock rubbing at the porcelain. God, when had that happened? How long had Hannibal been scenting his arousal as Will fingered his mouth?

          Fuck.

          At least he got some decent stuff on Miriam and Abigail. Something he should send to Jack.

          Will pulled the phone from his pocket, looking at the play bar. Something bothered him. Something that kept sending shivers down his back and panic spiking into the base of his skull. His hands shook as he scrolled backwards ten minutes.

          _-tracted to men…But are you attracted to me?...Yes._

          Will dropped the phone, his vision flashing white. He clutched the sides of the sink, his fingers going pale as he tried to squeeze reality back into a form he could understand. He hadn’t said that, had he? Had Hannibal altered the recording? Could he do that? What on earth had he done to him?

          Sinking slowly to the floor, Will retrieved the phone. He thumbed at the recording again.

          _Are you attracted to me?...Yes._

          _Attracted to me?...Yes._

_Yes._

Will knew his voice. It wasn’t the breathy tone that frightened him, or even the vague sounds of clothing rubbing together. What bothered him most was the certainty he heard.

* * *

 

          Will couldn’t bring himself to delete the recording. He listened to it over and over again as he sat upon the bathroom floor. Maybe the encephalitis was back. Maybe his brain was writhing in a fever state and Hannibal wasn’t even here. Maybe he’d just drop dead here in the bathroom and his dogs would eat him.

          A creak of the floorboards outside the bathroom door and the sound of a snuffling nose made Will freeze. He pictured a stag, massive and feathered, scenting him and waiting for him to emerge. How long could he realistically stay before the stag or Hannibal broke in? The snuffling stopped, a scratch and whine at the gap between door and floor allowed Will to breathe again. He let his fingers slip beneath the door to touch Winston’s nose, let him know he was OK.

          He wasn’t, but it would be hard to explain a crisis of morality, sexuality, and mind to a dog.

          Grunting, Will rose, his knees carrying the imprint of the tiles. He wasn’t hard anymore. He was breathing fairly normally. With any luck, he’d be able to leave the bathroom and weather the presence of Hannibal Lecter for a few more minutes.

          Will yanked open the door with more force than necessary only to be confronted with a pack of confused dogs. Hannibal was nowhere to be seen.

          “If, you’re done, would you mind me taking a shower?” Hannibal’s voice rang from the kitchen, so perfectly polite in his manner – a well-trained lion prowling about his house. Will paused, his immediate impulse was to slam the door shut and lay against it. Barricade himself off from that voice and the thoughts it stirred.

          “Yeah,” Will winced at his wavering voice. He cleared his throat. “I’m going to bed.”

          Will slapped at the lights in the living room, leaving the space bathed in orange light from the flames. His bed looked like the hell the preacher in Louisiana always described when his dad came home from the graveyard shift in time to take him to church. Flaming shadows licking up the walls, every surface of the room a contortion of pitch black shadows and harsh auburn light. Normally, Will would worry about falling asleep with the fire blazing, but perhaps it would be better to let the flames consume him rather than Hannibal Lecter.

          The sound of footfall behind him signaled that Hannibal had abandoned the kitchen for the bathroom. The doctor could move silently when called for, he must have wanted Will to know where he was, that he was safe. Another courtly gesture, another boyishly charming affectation – Will wanted to know if any of it was true, he wondered if even Hannibal knew at this point.

          Pulling back his meager blanket, Will quickly stripped off his flannel and pants, tossing them haphazardly on the chair near the bed. The sheets were warm, a couple of the dogs must have taken up residence on the bed while he was in the bathroom, but it offered him no comfort. He shifted fitfully in the bed, flopping from back to front and plowing his arms under the pillow.

          It was there, under the pillow, that he felt it. Fine cloth, much nicer than the he had on the bed. Tugging at the cloth he raised onto his elbows for a better look.

          Hannibal’s shirt lay crumpled in his hand. The fine cotton had been on Hannibal’s body for two days and smelled strongly of salt, sweat and earthy skin. A faint trace of that expensive cologne caught Will’s nose when he brought the shirt to his face.

          He left the shirt there, masking his mouth and nose as he inhaled deeply. It was a trap, he knew logically it was a trap. Hannibal must have stuffed the shirt under his pillow and smoothed the sheets. Had Hannibal wanted his scent to permeate Will’s bed, or had he thought of Will as he was: Faintly grinding his hips into the mattress, desperately drawing Hannibal into his lungs?

          Will found it didn’t really matter. After all the horror and betrayal, what would it matter if he took these few moments, just a few minutes to let his mind wander loose when Hannibal wasn’t in the room to herd it to his purposes?

          He twisted the cloth in his hand, drinking in the scent as he began to grind his hips with more purpose. The scent bloomed under the heat of his mouth, and he let his eyes close as he pictured Hannibal’s flesh, smelling human and lived-in after a long day, free of all the oils and fancy soaps he used to mask the animal beneath his suits.

          Will was hard again before he noticed. He let out a small whimper as the friction in his boxers became overwhelming. Leaving his arms entangled in Hannibal’s shirt, Will began to rock slower, letting his cock drag in along the mattress in long rolling thrusts.

          The image of Hannibal in the shower popped into his mind. Water flowing over that broad chest, navigating the bramble of silver chest hair in tangling routes. He’d seen the crime scene photos of Matthew’s aftermath, spent too long considering the jut of Hannibal’s cock in his blue speedos, imagining how the soft flesh of his sides would give under Will’s teeth. Even in his darkest moments he’d been grateful for Jack’s flash of competence, and even more grateful that he sent Matthew in the first place.

          He’d shown Hannibal that day, proven to him he wasn’t merely a toy to be manipulated, but an adversary that had been underestimated. At least, that’s what he’d thought he’d done. In reality, it seems, Will showed Hannibal that he was a willing playmate, one that would keep him entertained for years. His reward was this: A dirty shirt and the promise of blood to come.

          It was intoxicating.

          Will moaned softly into the shirt, biting at the folds and tonguing at the cotton in his mouth. He pictured Hannibal’s flesh, his blood seeping past Will’s teeth. He thought of consumption and what it would truly mean to take and be taken so fully.

          Leaning on one arm, he freed his other to shove into his boxers, offering himself a dry tunnel of fingers to fuck. He moaned again, trying to stifle the sound with the shirt.

          What would Hannibal do if he heard him? Will let his empathy take over, his mind building the scenario as he desperately rolled his hips.

          Hannibal would open the door, his skin steaming from the shower and hair damp. He’d smell Will before he saw him, the thick scent of arousal augmented by the humid air of the bathroom. He’d take his time, scenting the air and watching Will hump the mattress like a teenager. He’d enjoy the experience of Will so vulnerable and needy before his prey drive forced him to move.

          On soundless feet he’d creep over to the bed, Will wouldn’t be aware of him until a few stray droplets of water hit his neck as Hannibal leaned over him. The doctor would rest his hands on Will’s hips, gently guiding their movement as Will cried out in shock.

_What is it you like so much about my shirt, I wonder, Will?_

          Will hissed, he could almost feel Hannibal’s breath against his ear.

_Is it the shirt? Or is it perhaps that you’ve scented what you need?_

          Hannibal would run one hand along Will’s bowing spine before offering his hand to Will. The smell of warm wet flesh would be so strong, Hannibal’s slightly musky scent marked with Will’s cheap soap.

          Will groaned at the thought of marking Hannibal, of changing his scent so the doctor would smell him all day no matter where he went. Will tightened his fist.

          Hannibal would shift, rolling over Will to lay flat on the bed, offering himself up for the feast that he was. Will would keep rolling his hips, even as Hannibal guided his face closer, letting Will bite and lick at his fingers as he brought the empath to his stomach.

          Will would drown in the flesh there, pressing his face into the skin and gnashing his teeth into it. He’d rub along Hannibal’s belly, scrapping with his stubble and licking with his tongue, rolling in the essence of Hannibal like a dog.

          He’d end his journey with his face pressed in the crux of Hannibal’s hip, chin rasping against the tender flesh of Hannibal’s groin. Hannibal would be hard, but would make no move to touch himself. He’d simply sink a hand in Will’s hair and allow himself to be consumed. He’d come untouched, bathing in the scents of desperate arousal and hunger he’d inhale from Will.

          Will thought about that smell, how much stronger it would be, the scent of come in his nose and the taste of copper in his mouth as he took his pound of flesh.

          Will came, biting Hannibal’s name into his fist, cotton filling his mouth and choking his senses.

          For a long moment, Will lay still, his come cooling sticky on his hand and sweat prickling his temples and back. His breath slowed from desperate pants to shaky gulps, but he was having trouble controlling his rabbiting heart. After a few more moments of orgasmic haze, reality began to creep up his spine with his cooling flesh.

          Hannibal would smell this. There was no way around that, even if he had time to air out the room. Hannibal would know.

          But then, Hannibal knew as soon as he put the shirt under Will’s pillow. As infuriating as it was, Will had to admit he’d done, for once, exactly as Hannibal had hoped. He hated himself for giving Hannibal any sort of victory. He hated himself even more for enjoying it so much.

          Perhaps if he wiped off and feigned sleep he could avoid the doctor and his smug questions until the morning.

          Shifting gingerly, Will began to peel back the sheets. His hand froze in midair when he saw Hannibal, lying on the camp mattress less than 10 feet from his bed. With the shirt gone from his face, Will could smell the wet air in the room, the mixture of Head & Shoulders and Ivory Soap. His mouth fell open, but there was nothing to be said, no way of framing this as anything other than it was.

          He watched Hannibal’s back, silhouetted black by the fire, his shadow reaching along the floor until it caressed the edge of Will’s bed. Will let himself breathe, forced his shaking hands to drop the sheets. He shimmied out of his boxers and used them to wipe away his mess as best he could, wincing every time the mattress creaked. He slipped out of his t-shirt as well, laying naked and sticky beneath the covers, Hannibal’s shirt on the pillow beside him.

          Will stayed awake for long hours, watching the absolute stillness of Hannibal’s form on the floor as the fire crackled. He watched Hannibal’s shadow dance about his bed as the flames moved, and wondered if it would crawl up onto the mattress and join him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Breakfast, some awkward conversations, and the dance of the seven veils...


	5. Sunday Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal performs the dance of the seven veils ... but not the way Will wants him to.

          Abigail was already in the river when Will found her. He smiled when she waved, her waders just a little too big for her and gaping out at the chest. He noticed she was wearing his old baseball cap, tilted too high on her forehead to block the sun. She squinted and waved to him as he waded in the water.

          He didn’t know how the pole got in his hand, or when he baited the hook, but he winked at her as he cast it out.

          “Did you name it?”

          “Huh?”

          “You told me if you name the bait after someone you cherished, and they cherished you back, you’d catch a fish.”

          Will rolled his neck. “You think I need luck?”

          “I think you didn’t answer.”

          “Abigail. I always name the bait Abigail.”

          Abigail smiled sadly, tugging the cap low on her eyes. “No. You always mean to name it Abigail, but you never do.”

          “I don’t-”

          “It’s OK, Will, who am I gonna tell?” Abigail casts her own line. “I name mine after him too, you know. Not always, but sometimes.”

          “Did you catch a fish?”

          Abigail shrugged. “About as often as you do, I suppose. He’s a tricky bait to work with.”

          Will nodded, letting himself be hypnotized by the feel of the line in his fingers and the soft slapping of the water against his waders. “What do you think he’d name his bait?”

          “Why don’t we find out?”

          “No.”

          Abigail reeled in a catch, smiling. “Today, he cherishes me.”

          “I’m not bringing him.”

          “You dream of bringing me here all the time, why won’t you bring Hannibal?”

          “He killed you.” Will reeled the line back and cast again, focusing on the feel of the pole and not the blue eyes peering at him from under the brim of his favorite cap.

          “Did he?” Abigail raised an amused eyebrow, then shrugged again. “So many of my fathers have tried, hard to hold a grudge at this point – it might just be me.”

          “No. He slaughtered you to get me to Troy.”

          Abigail smiled. “Is that what happened to Iphigenia?”

          Will frowned, looking in his fish bag. He found a bluegill and a rockfish flopping on top of a copy of Edith Hamilton’s _Mythology_. He reached for it, but Abigail stopped his hand, squeezing his fingers in a cold grip.

          “Don’t. Just invite him.”

          Will looked back into the bag, it was empty. He baited a new hook, looked Abigail in the eyes and said her name before casting it far away from them. “He doesn’t deserve this place, I don’t want him here.”

          Abigail squinted, tilting her head as she pointed to a shoal of rapids about 20 feet beyond them. “Then why is he here?”

          The Wendigo emerged from the rapids, obsidian skin glimmering as the water fell from its antlers. When it reached full height, it loomed large over the river, dripping as it watched them with its impassive face. Though it bore no discernable expression, Will watched as it shifted from foot to foot, reminding Will of the dogs when they angled for invitations onto the bed.

          Will felt the impulse to tap at his thigh, call the thing over to him and Abigail. Instead he fisted his hands, letting a sense of dread wash over him. The creature cocked its head, rivulets of water trailing along its antlers and sloping cheekbones.

          “I don’t like him here.”

          “Then get rid of him.” Abigail’s tone was infuriatingly passive. Will thought briefly of sitting in a leather-bound chair in a cavernous office, listening to all his mental horrors being casually dissected.

          “I can’t.” Will glared at the Wendigo, but made no move toward it.

          “Can’t, or don’t want to?” Will turned to see Abigail studying him, a small smile on her face. “This is your domain, after all.”

          Will sneered. “You’re starting to sound like him.”

          Abigail raised an eyebrow. “You’re making me sound like him, Will.”

          “He killed you, you know.” Will reached forward and tugged the cap off Abigail’s head. He wrung the bill in his hands, feeling the familiar grime of the well-used khaki under the pads of his fingers. He shoved the cap over his head, pulling the brim low.

          Abigail tucked her hair behind her ears, revealing a hole on the left side of her head surrounded by teeth marks. When the hair caught on nothing and fell back in front of the hole, Abigail sighed and pulled out a hair tie.

          “I’m kinda OK with it,” she said, pulling her hair into a ponytail. “As long as I have a hair tie.”   

          “You’re OK with it because I’m making you be,” Will’s voice sounded hoarse. He ran the backs of his knuckles over the marred flesh where her ear should be.

          Abigail smirked. “Why’s that, I wonder?”

          “Because I want – I _wanted_ – I just need-”

          Abigail patted his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “You don’t have to tell me, I know.”

          “I don’t want to want-”

          “Doesn’t matter, does it?” Abigail reeled in her line and put some fresh bait on it. “Fish always put up the strongest fight when they’re well and truly hooked.”

          “The more they struggle the deeper it sinks.”

          “So…why struggle?”

          Will sighed. Raising his hand, he beckoned to the Wendigo, still watching them from the shoal. It cocked its head before moving forward, cutting through the water in an eerie glide as it approached. When it reached Will, it stooped slightly, studying him and Abigail.

          Will held out his pole letting his hands graze along the Wendigo’s claws as he taught it how to hold the rod. Reaching into his fishing pack, his fingers pulled a worm blindly from the bait compartment, relying on his muscle memory. But when Will held the worm up to the hook to bait, he blinked. He wasn’t holding a nightcrawler, but an ear.

          He handed the ear to the creature, who took it gently in his claws. Turning to Abigail, the thing held the ear aloft, tilting its head.

          “Call it _Will_ ,” She told him. “You’ll catch a fish.”

          Will helped the Wendigo spear the flesh securely on the line then demonstrated the proper casting motions. The monster studied him, grave and silent as it tried to ape the gestures Will made.

          “He doesn’t talk as much as the other Hannibal.”

          “I like him too,” Abigail said, watching as the Wendigo sent her ear arcing over the rapids before slipping into the water.

          The river began to run red, its waters heating up against Will’s waders. As the monster drew his line along the river of blood, the Ravenstag appeared in the tree line, slipping down to the banks for a drink. While the Wendigo stared at its lure, Will pulled off his cap and sat it between the creature’s antlers. He had to fiddle for a moment to make the cap stay put, but the Wendigo made no move to stop him. When it was done, Abigail giggled, and Will felt a strange sense of euphoria flow through him.

          Wrapping his arms around the monster, Will helped him reel in a rockfish.

* * *

 

          Will woke with a gush of cold air and the sound of dog nails clattering against the wooden floors. He could hear Hannibal milling by the door, taking off his boots and entreating Winston to please come in the house. Will kept his eyes closed and his breathing slow as he listened to Hannibal softly pad around the living room, folding a blanket, opening a drawer, and approaching the bed.

          Will’s heartbeat began frantically drumming as Hannibal neared. The doctor must know he was awake, must see his rapidly rising chest and his eyes screwed shut in panic and not in sleep. Will braced for what Hannibal would do, realizing belatedly that he was still naked beneath the sheets, his soiled boxers and shirt crumpled on the floor by the bed.

          Something landed softly by his head. Will pictured Hannibal leaning over him, one arm resting by his ear as he bent down for a kiss. He tilted his chin up slightly before freezing in mortification. He feigned a snore and rolled to the side, burying his head in the pillow. With any luck he’d suffocate and wouldn’t need to worry about why his body did any of the things it was currently doing.

          When whatever was by his head didn’t move, Will cracked an eye and was greeted with a neatly folded pair of boxer shorts and a clean t-shirt. He sat upright immediately, looking at the spot on the empty floor where his come covered clothes should have been.

          _Fuck._

          A pan banged somewhere in the kitchen, Will could hear the faint sounds of humming. He wondered what Hannibal had done with the clothes he’d picked up, was he wearing the shirt Will had…used last night? There was only one way to find out. With a sigh, he pulled the clean t-shirt over his head and stepped into the boxers.

          Scrubbing a hand over his face, he trudged to the bathroom. He needed a long, scalding shower – breakfast was going to be insufferable.

* * *

 

Will walked into the kitchen holding his breath. Hannibal was at the table sipping coffee from a chipped mug. He was wearing a red and blue plaid shirt that he must have bought at Walmart. Will wasn’t sure what was more distressing: That he looked so good in cheap flannel or that he could easily imagine Hannibal having the fabric made into a three-piece suit. Without the fancy gel that held his hair in place, Hannibal’s bangs fell boyishly over his face, giving the doctor an unassuming appearance that belied the danger that lurked under his brow. There was two days of stubble prickling along Hannibal’s throat and jaw, and Will let his brain offer a few guesses as to how it would feel sliding along his skin.

          Hannibal offered a cup of coffee to Will with a slight smile. Will took it and drained the burning liquid immediately.

          “Trouble sleeping?” The tone was so innocent, so perfectly free of inflection, it made Will flush hot.

          “Huh?” Will fled to the coffeepot for a refill, anything to keep his back to Hannibal.  

          “You cried out again last night Will,” Hannibal tapped at the chip in the mug with a strong finger. “Were your dreams troubled?”

          “Why do you say that?”

          “You were moaning,” Will’s hand slipped and the coffee splashed across his knuckles. He cursed. “I was worried you were in pain.”

          “You don’t worry.” Will bit back. He mopped at the puddle of coffee before he turned. “I don’t remember what I was dreaming about.”

          “Hmmmm.” Hannibal for bullshit, but still, better than having to talk any further about moans in the night. “I often worry about the quality of your sleep, Will.”

          “You didn’t come to comfort me this time.” Hannibal had taken the excuse to crawl into Will’s bed when he’d had the nightmare. Why hadn’t he taken the excuse when– Will flopped into his chair, then frowned into his mug of black coffee. What the fuck was he saying?

          “Did you want me to?”

_Yes._ Will bit at his lips, his tongue tasted of stale coffee and the words he wouldn’t say.

          “I’m not doing this before I’ve had coffee, Hannibal.”

          “Ah yes, of course, how rude of me,” Hannibal took a sip from his mug, eyes shifting to the window and back. “Lovely weather we’re having.”

          Will shot Hannibal a withering look over the rim of his mug.

          Hannibal stood and opened the oven, removing two plates. Will noted that Hannibal still had his suit pants on and was relieved he wouldn’t have to deal with the image of Hannibal Lecter in cheap denim. “Eggs Hussarde.”

          Will was grateful for once to give Hannibal a chance to talk about his food. “It looks like Eggs Benedict.”

          Hannibal smiled. “Indeed. The ham is cooked with a red wine, garlic, and mushroom reduction. It is then topped with the traditional poached egg, hollandaise sauce and a healthy dose of cayenne.”

          “Cayenne you say?” Will tucked into the dish, grunting appreciatively at the low heat mixing with the silky rich sauce.

          “Yes, I do say.” Hannibal cut into his own egg and let it bleed onto the plate. “Since I do have a whole gallon of wine and we don’t seem to be going anywhere, I thought we could indulge today.”

          They chewed in silence for a few minutes. Hannibal watching Will’s every bite.

          “What?”

          “Curious you’ve never heard of the New Orleans take on Eggs Benedict.”

          “I have, this just didn’t look like the ones I’ve eaten.” Will lied between mouthfuls.

          Hannibal raised his brow. “I shall endeavor to one day reach the heights of your culinary standards.”

          “Just eat up, we’ve got things to do today.”

          “Am I finally being arrested?”

          Will shrugged. “It’s early, I can’t say for sure. But if you end up in cuffs, you’re going to want a full belly.”

          Hannibal smiled and licked a droplet of yoke from his fork.

* * *

 

          Will was knee deep in boxes he should have unpacked years ago when he heard it. He had been searching through musty cardboard, sifting through old fishing tackle that still smelled faintly of the bayou. He had a goal in mind: a pair of waders that he had stored when he moved. They were old, and not quite as insulated as the pair he had now, but they should keep the water out, and that was all he needed.

          He lifted up a battered piece of clay and smiled. He’d made the catfish when he was 10, his art teacher smiling as he studiously referenced a picture he’d found at the library. It was lopsided and lumpy, and the whiskers had broken off in the kiln, but he’d proudly presented it to his father for his birthday. When the old man had died years later, Will had found it – with a few chips in the glaze and a chunk out of the dorsal fin – sitting on his father’s nightstand, watching over him. He didn’t know why he bothered keeping it.

          Sitting the fish on another box, Will continued his dig, finally laying hands on the battered and dusty waders. He realized he was humming and only when he paused to think of the tune did he hear the piano. Filtering up through the floorboards of the house were flourishing notes and a familiar lilting tune.

          Will closed his eyes, gathering the waders to his chest. He could see a woman twirling and dipping, silks flying behind her.

          Will grinned.

          The Dance of the Seven Veils.

          Schooling his face into something more neutral, he grabbed the waders and headed for the steps, his mind toying with an image of a silk clad Hannibal spinning through his living room.

          The reality was a bit of a letdown after the vision Will conjured. Hannibal sat at the piano, posture straight, but never stiff, his hands hovering over the keys as he played. Max, Buster and Harley were his audience, all watching him intently, occasionally wagging their tails in case their attentiveness earned them treats. Winston walked over to Will, nosing at the waders.

          Will scratched Winston’s ear before setting the waders onto his bed and softly walking to the piano. As he approached, Will realized Hannibal’s eyes were closed. He thought about the audience Hannibal must be imagining for himself, formally attired men and women, all clamoring to offer an ovation.

          Hannibal’s eyes opened the second Will drew close enough to touch. Those bloodstain eyes watching him with such deep intensity and pleasure that Will was forced to admit he’d been wrong about the audience Hannibal was conjuring. He wanted to ask if the version of himself in Hannibal’s mind was dressed up, settled in some opulent theater Hannibal had visited on his travels, or if it was closer to the one that stood before him now – adorned only with unbrushed hair and cheap cotton, surrounded by dogs.

          “Isn’t this a little obvious, Doctor?” Will ran a finger along the top of the piano. Hannibal must have dusted it. “Base seduction is worthy of Chilton.”

          “I assure you, my performance is better than Frederick could ever attempt,” Hannibal ended the bar with a flourish, his eyes never leaving Will. The music turned soft under his hands, gently seducing and revealing.

          “So, what? You’re just going to seduce me with music?”

          “I thought of kissing you and running to my home, but gas prices are on the rise.” Hannibal’s mouth curled just slightly; Will felt his mirror the expression. “And look, I sought to draw you near and here you are.”

          “And you didn’t even have to remove a veil.” Will ran a hand through his hair, trying to press it in order with his fingers. “So, what now, Doctor Lecter? Do I bring you the head of Jack Crawford?”

          “Not if I’m expected to kiss his lips.”

          “Then, what? Should Jack bring you my head?”

          Hannibal tilted his head, considering. The notes became louder, frantic little discordant flutters along the steady rhythm, a musical tease. “Your neck is lovely, it would be a shame to mar it for the sake of operatic accuracy.”

          Will pursed his lips. “So, when you do it, I’ll keep my head.”

          “I’d want something a little more personal than your head on a plate, I think.” The notes ran up and down the scales, Will shivered as they descended the piece into a lower register.

          Will closed his eyes, his vision swinging bright. He had an apparition of Hannibal digging into his guts with bare hands. A blade slipping his stomach open so Hannibal could dive deep inside, rooting himself as profoundly as Will had rooted himself inside Hannibal. Blood would spill from him, baptizing Hannibal and sanctifying their connection.

          It was grotesque and painful and glorious. Above all, it was intimate, the kind of intimacy men like Hannibal would only allow through blood. Fine tremors ran through Will as he let the bloody images wash over him. He told himself the gooseflesh on his arms was due to revulsion, not excitement.

          Hannibal’s eyebrow raised, but he said nothing. Will wondered what his arousal smelled like. Hannibal drew another deep breath, his eyes dancing.

          Will rolled his neck, forcing himself to breath deep. “That thing was here when I moved in.  Didn’t know it was still in tune.”

          “It wasn’t. I tuned it.”

          “Just now, or one of the hundreds of times you snuck in?”

          Hannibal smiled. Cold realization washed over Will. He leaned heavy against the piano.

          “This isn’t the first time you’ve played for me is it?” In the back of his mind fragments of chords came together, a tune picked out. Will could see himself, lost in the haze of fever and anxiety wandering to the piano and stroking the keys, wondering why touching an instrument he didn’t play gave him such comfort. He could see Hannibal, shoving an ear down Will’s throat, then tucking him into bed and playing a few soft Debussy tunes to sooth him back to sleep. Will wasn’t sure if the vision was real or a fantasy.

          He wasn’t sure it mattered anymore.

          “You enjoy Strauss,” Hannibal said as his hands danced. “The Tone Poems, especially.”

          “How often did you play for me?” The music had taken on a dreamlike quality and Will let his eyes slip closed.

          “How often did you sleep well?”

          “The dogs-”

          “Know me quite well.” Hannibal’s hand moved through a flourish before dipping down to stroke Buster’s spine and resume playing. “They like Strauss too.”

          The tempo of Hannibal’s hands sped up. The music started to swirl and build momentum. It was too fast, too much, too discordant and beautiful. It was terrible and wonderful.

          It sounded like love.

          Will let the piano hold him up, not daring to open his eyes lest his tears fall.

          When the music came to an end, Will waited in the dark for Hannibal to say something. No words came, and finally, Will opened his eyes to see Hannibal with tear streaked cheeks, watching him intently.

          “Any other requests?” Hannibal’s voice was thick. Will felt his fingers curl into fists, as he resisted the impulse to wipe the tears from Hannibal’s cheeks and brush the hair off his forehead.

          “Yeah,” Will cleared his throat. “Get dressed.”

          Hannibal stood; Will let himself be crowded into the wall. “Am I in need of a special outfit?”

          Will side stepped Hannibal and walked to the hall closet, pulling out his Cabela waders. They were a little over a year old, scuffed and smelling of river water. When he bought them, they were the most expensive piece of clothing he owned, an investment that would last him years, but now they seemed rather tatty an offering for Hannibal Lecter. For a moment, Will hesitated before holding them out to Hannibal.

          Hannibal crossed the room and gingerly took the waders from Will. He held them aloft, examining them carefully. “The boots are…attached?”

          “Yeah,” Will could feel his cheeks heating. “Look if you don’t want to-”

          “They’re insulated as well, these must keep you very warm.”

          Will nodded. Hannibal ran his fingers over the drawstring at the chest. “I know they’re not much to look at but they do the job.”

          Hannibal’s mouth twitched in amusement. “Actually, I wear something rather similar for my hobby.”

          Will pulled his lips into his mouth and bit down. He could envision Hannibal Lecter, blithely walking around a crime scene in his blood-soaked waders, scalpels stored in the hip pocket instead of lures. He huffed at the image. “You get yours at Bass Pro Shop too?”

          “Typically, I pick them up at local hardware stores, when I gather extra sundries I may need.” Will pictured Hannibal in plastic painting coveralls. Slinking around bodies in crinkly blue plastic. It didn’t seem right and Will frowned, thinking about the coverall options Hannibal would have to consider. He thought of the doctor, studiously planning an outfit for his murder, and the little sneer he’d develop if he had to pair that outfit with bright yellow plastic. Clear. Hannibal bought clear coveralls, he had to. It would be the only option that wouldn’t require a wardrobe change. Hannibal tilted his head as if he’d been privy to Will’s whole thought process. “I find it’s best to pay cash for those sorts of items.”

          Will snorted, “I suppose it would be too much to hope you’d just order it on Amazon, give us a paper trail.”

          “My Amazon order history is rather banal.”

          “No hacksaws and coils of rope?”

          “Mostly biographies downloaded to my tablet, I’m afraid.” Hannibal paused, looking up from the waders. “And a few texts on fishing and dog training.”

          Hannibal winked. Will ducked his head to hide his smile. “Get dressed, we’re running late.”

          Hannibal stepped into the waders. “I’d hate to miss our appointment with the fish.”  

          “We’ll see how glib you are when we don’t catch anything and we have to eat canned beans and toast for dinner.”

          Hannibal frowned, pulling up the waders. “They can beans with toast?”

          Will hopped into his old waders, pulling them up. “I can’t wait to broaden your palate, Doctor.”

          Moving across the room, Will inspected Hannibal. Will ran his hand along the front of the waders, mouth curling just slightly when he noticed Hannibal had stopped breathing. He wrapped his fingers around the drawstring at the chest and pulled it tight.

          “There, now you won’t get waterlogged.”

          “Thank you.” Hannibal’s hand landed at Will’s side. The empath stilled refusing to let himself lean into the touch. Hannibal’s hand ran along the edge of Will’s waders, tracing his chest before landing on the drawstring there. Before pulling it tight, Hannibal’s fingers dipped around the edge. The heat radiating through Will’s chest from two fingers was dizzying. “This isn’t insulated.”

          “Huh?”       

          Hannibal tugged at the lip of the waders. “These are not insulated.”

          Will blinked. “Oh, uh, no. These are my old ones, from my bayou fishing days. Didn’t need insulation then. It’s fine.”

          “You’ll be cold. You should take these.” Hannibal moved to unfasten the waders he wore. Will grabbed his hands, stilling the movement.

          That heat.

          Was Hannibal always so warm?

          “I’ll layer up, I’ll be fine.” Will didn’t let go of Hannibal’s hands. Hannibal made no move to free himself. He stared into those bloodstained eyes for a long moment – too long. His brain started to offer him possibilities. Terrible, bloody possibilities that were too beautiful to contemplate in this lifetime.

          “We’re keeping the fish waiting.”

          Will nodded, his movements felt jerky. “Yeah, let me just grab a coat and an extra flannel.

          “Thank god, I thought you only had the one.” Hannibal smiled when Will released him, bringing his hands to his mouth and inhaling slightly.

          “Grab the goddamn tackle box and wait outside.”

          Hannibal smiled and headed for the door, hefting Will’s tackle with him as he left. Will rooted through his drawers until he found a fleece-lined flannel and an oil-cloth coat. His bottom half would be numb, but this should be enough to keep the tremors from showing.

          As Will walked to the door, he hesitated, glancing at his phone charging by the bed. He should take it and record. Hannibal didn’t care and he might get something useable.

          Picking up two fishing poles, Will walked past the phone and out the door. He’d get Hannibal – later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Up: Dev did like 4 hours of fly fishing research and by god you will read it all!


	6. Sunday Afternoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will takes his favorite monster fishing.

          Hannibal stood at the edge of the water, frowning as little rapids licked at the tips of his waders. Will was mid-stream, his uninsulated waders already making his toes tingle with numbness. He thought of clicking his tongue, trying to draw Hannibal into the river with a whistle and some soft words.

          “You look like a cat.”

          Hannibal’s frown deepened. “I’m merely wondering why this task can’t be accomplished here. The line is long enough to reach into the waters and surely walking around in the river startles the fish.”

          Will nodded, his mouth twitching into a smile for a moment. He squinted into the sun to hide the expression before turning back to Hannibal. “Do you really want a reason? Or are you just being difficult?”

          “I’m seeking knowledge.”

          “Seek it out here.” Will pointed into the water beside him. He grinned as Hannibal sighed, stepping into the small rapids and delicately picking his way toward Will. Though his movements were slow, they were no less graceful. Will noted that even when the ground wasn’t visible, Hannibal seemed surefooted in his course. “See? Not so bad, right? You’re still dry.”

          Hannibal sniffed, lip curling softly. “Until you decide to push me.”

          Will shrugged. Fair enough, the thought had crossed his mind.

          “You wade into the middle of the river because that’s where the bigger fish are. Being in the water also allows you to cast downstream. You cast downstream on the shore, you’re going to lose your lines and your lures to branches and rocks on the banks.” Will handed Hannibal a pole. “As for scaring the fish, keep quiet and still – they’ll forget you slogged through soon enough.”

          Hannibal’s mouth pulled up in the corner. “Keep quiet? Is that why you finally brought me out here?”

          “It was either that or a gag.” Will secured one of his favorite lures to Hannibal’s pole, fingers shaking slightly as the cold crept up his spine.

          “I wouldn’t be opposed to a gag.” Will jerked at the words, so close to his ear, scratching his thumb with the hook.

          “You know how to cast?” Will released the hook and kept his eyes low.

          “Yes, it was on my medical boards. I studied for months.”

          Will rolled his eyes, hooking his pole to a loop in his waders. He sloshed behind Hannibal, pressing himself against the doctor’s back. Winding his arms around the man before him, Will fitted his hands around the doctor’s. Hannibal had stopped breathing, going very stiff in Will’s embrace. The idea that he’d torn a seam in Hannibal’s person suit and left him unmoored and breathless filled Will with warmth. He eased up on his toes slightly, just enough to hook his chin over Hannibal’s shoulder.

          “It’s a very easy motion,” Will inhaled, the scents of cheap shampoo and warm skin filling his lungs. He couldn’t tell if there was still a trace of that woody cologne on Hannibal’s skin or if he was imagining it.

          Hannibal was breathing again, but it was audible. He seemed oddly human when Will was close enough to scent the sweat at the base of his skull and the stale coffee still on his breath.

          “You want to keep the pole level as you go, draw it back,” Will pulled Hannibal’s arm back in a sweeping motion. “Then you pause. You see how the rod curves when you draw it back?”

          Hannibal dipped his head once in assent. Will reset Hannibal’s hands, then drew the one with the pole back again.

          “You don’t want to go forward until the pole’s had a chance to straighten, otherwise you’ll cast askew.” Will drew more of Hannibal into his lungs. Sweat, salt, and something deeper – a thick musky scent that coated his tongue and filled his chest. Was this what his arousal smelled like? Or did everyone have a distinct profile? He pushed Hannibal’s hand forward. “Once the pole straightens, you sweep it forward again, keep that pole level, like that, yeah.”

          Will took him through the motions a few times. Backward, pause, then forward. Backward, pause, then forward. He noticed they were breathing as one as they swayed together in the water. “You want the lure to make a tight loop in the air. Do it too fast, and the line could snap. Too slow, you’ll send the lure into the brambles on the bank.”

          “Timing is everything,” Hannibal’s voice sounded strained.

          “Timing and practice,” Will wondered if his voice sounded as rough to Hannibal’s ears as it did to his own. He was just so close to Hannibal, he couldn’t do anything but whisper. He let himself accept that answer as he drew Hannibal through another round of practice. “You attempt something enough times, you’ll get it eventually.”

          “Is that so?” Hannibal shifted, leaning backwards a fraction. Will let his free hand drop to Hannibal’s waist, pressing him into the empath’s chest just a little more. Will could feel that damn heat, even through the layers of insulation.

          “The key here, is to keep a good grip on the pole, but let the line play.” Will shifted his chin, his eyes falling shut for a moment when his beard caught at the stubble on Hannibal’s neck. “OK, show me your back cast.”

          Hannibal drew the pole back, Will’s hands still on his wrist. It was a graceful movement, not perfect, but better than Will would have expected from anyone other than Hannibal.

          “Not bad.” Will pushed himself against Hannibal softly, a bare increase in pressure. “Now put that together with the forward cast.”

          He should have stepped back, should have given Hannibal room to attempt the cast. But Will found he didn’t want to. He was cold in his waders, and Hannibal was warm. Besides, he was only making sure the doctor had the movements down.

          Hannibal drew back the pole, keeping it perfectly level. He paused for half a breath until the tension in the rod eased, before gracefully sweeping forward. The lure flew true, soaring 20 feet in the air before diving into the waters.

          Will felt a stab of something sour in his throat. He had expected Hannibal to snap the line, swing the cast too high, sink the lure into the stones by the bank. It wasn’t that he was surprised by Hannibal’s skill, but he was surprised that Hannibal didn’t take the opportunity to make a mistake that would force Will to stay wrapped around him, correcting his form. He frowned at the doctor’s good cast before tightening his grip around Hannibal’s wrist.

          “That was pretty good. Reel it in and let’s try it again.” Will kept his eyes on the lure downstream, even when he felt Hannibal’s gaze shift to his face.

          They went through the motions seven more times. A dance in the middle of the river. Will was about to suggest an eighth practice cast when he noticed Hannibal’s eyes were closed, the sunlight dappling his face and making the grey hairs stubbling his chin gleam.

          “Good, you’ve got it.” Will took a few awkward steps backward, sloshing loudly as he put a safe distance between himself and Hannibal. He was half hard and he felt warmer than he had all day. He hoped the cold water beating along the uninsulated rubber of his waders would freeze the thoughts from his mind. “You go ahead and cast again, I’ll get my line in.”

          Hannibal drew the line back in and cast out like an old pro, his arm moving fluidly in the afternoon air.

          Will fumbled unhooking his pole from the waders, his fingers tingling with cold again. Glancing at Hannibal, Will switched to his non-dominant hand to cast. A left-handed cast wouldn’t be as graceful, but he wasn’t sure he could control the tremors in his hands well enough to avoid catching Hannibal on the back cast if he used his right.

          Will rolled his forearm back, conscious of keeping his rod level. As muscle memory took over, he could hear his father’s voice in his ear.

_Don’t forget to name ‘er Will. Cast out the name of a dear one and you’ll reel in a fish every time_.

          He could feel his father’s calloused fingers sinking into his hair to ruffle his curls. Will let his arm glide forward, the line slipping through his fingers as he watched the lure sail straight into the waters ahead.

          “What is it?”

          Will blinked. “What?”

          Hannibal tilted his head, peering at Will through his bangs. His eyes looked ruddy in the sunlight. “You said my name.”

          Somewhere in the back of his mind, Will could hear the sound of Abigail laughing.

* * *

 

          Hannibal was the first to catch a fish. His line jerked and Hannibal immediately fell into action. His whole body grew hyper-alert at once, muscles tensing, eyes locked on the thrashing fish in the water. Will thought about a documentary on the Amazon River he’d seen as a child. Sitting on the ratty carpet in apartment his dad had to rent by the week, Will had watched as a jaguar stalked along the banks of the river. The cat tensed suddenly, every molecule in its being focused on some unseen object below the murky water. When it leaped into the river, Will had gasped. The jaguar emerged seconds later wrestling a caiman along the banks.   

          He watched Hannibal now, all taught muscle and deadly concentration. A perfect predator who scented his prey.

          Will could admit to himself that he was a little disappointed when Hannibal began to reel the fish in instead of leaping between the waves to emerge with his prize clenched between his teeth. But when Hannibal pulled a fat bluegill from the water, Will couldn’t help the grin on his face.

          Opening his mouth to offer assistance, Will smiled when Hannibal snatched the fish dangling from his line barehanded. The doctor grimaced a bit when his fingers coiled around the wet fish, but his grip never faltered. Unhooking the fish and still holding firm, Hannibal finally paused, looking up at Will with a raised brow.

          “Should I deposit it in the cooler?”

          Will shook his head. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out his stringer, holding it aloft. He grinned when Hannibal tilted his head. Holding out his hand, Will offered, “It’s a stringer.”

          Will didn’t tender an explanation, getting a ridiculous thrill when Hannibal frowned and squinted slightly at him.

          “Ah, of course, that explains everything.”

          Will held the string high by the spike. “You can take this sharp end and put it one of two places-”

          Hannibal raised both brows, his mouth twisting in amusement. “Shall I guess where you’d suggest?”

          Will huffed and shook his head. “You can shove it through the gills, which could kill ‘em if they thrash too much. Or, you can do this.”

          Will pried the bluegill’s mouth open and pierced the thin skin of the bottom jaw. Once the string was threaded through the fish’s mouth, Will ran it through a metal ring on the end, looping the fish on the end of the string.

          Will held the tethered fish up. “Now he can swim in the fresh water ‘til we’re ready to go.”

          Hannibal quirked his lips into a smile. “How cruel.”

          “Not about cruelty, it’s about eating fresh meat.”

          “And yet you object when I do the same.”

          Will rolled his eyes and tied another metal loop to the stringer for the next catch. He gently set the fish into the water, releasing it to swim in a little arc around his legs.

          Hannibal grinned. “Your fish is on a leash.”

          “No, your fish is on a leash,” Will said as he tied the end of the stringer to his waders. “And it’s gonna stay there ‘til we’re done for the day.”

          Hannibal’s mouth twitched, but he simply nodded and cast his line and lure again.

          For the better part of an hour, the men stood in silence, the river running between them. Will found that for the first time since he was little he didn’t like the silence of the river. He wanted to talk. More accurately, he wanted Hannibal to talk. He wanted to pick at the doctor’s brain, to listen to him describe tableaus, tell him about the displays he planned for Jack. He wanted details about display he planned for Will. He wanted to know why Abigail hadn’t been displayed.

          He began to toy with the idea that Hannibal had prepared her as he had his sister, feeding on her as a commemoration, not a mockery. The idea of asking was buzzing in his brain, but somehow it seemed in poor taste. He could hear Abigail in his mind, telling him _that’s not the right question to ask_. She wouldn’t tell him what the right question was.

          Will had just decided to forgo Abigail’s sage advice and ask anyway when his line gave a sharp tug. Will yanked against the tension, giving the line some play even as he reeled the fish closer. He could feel Hannibal’s eyes on him, and for some reason that made him feel like showing off. He flicked the bluegill out of the water, letting it dance and crash among the rapids as they fought. He could have brought it in easily but playing up the drama left Hannibal rapt.  

          “I see that you’ve outmatched me for skill.” Hannibal said as Will performed a particularly complicated but unnecessary move.

          “You’re good at this too.”

          “I am quite patient.”

          “Is that why you killed Franklyn?” Will could feel himself smiling and looked away to see to the bluegill on his line.

          Hannibal huffed out a soft laugh. “I assure you I lasted longer than most would have.”

          Will laughed, finally ending his show and reeling in the exhausted fish.

          “This is all I want,” Will murmured as he looped the second fish on the stringer and sat the pair of bluegills back into the water.

          “You never wish to leave the river?” Hannibal bent down and stirred the water with a finger, watching as the bluegills shifted away from the disturbance in perfect synch. “I never took you for Narcissus.”

          Will laughed, “So this isn’t about my pretty blue eyes?”

          “I could write you sonnets on every lash, the slight bend in the bridge of your nose, the point of your chin, the furrow in your brow when you don’t like what I’ve said” Hannibal reached out and stroked a wet finger between Will’s eyebrows. Will tried not to lean into the touch. “But your physical attributes are not why I smell of fish while wearing a cotton poly-blend shirt, no.”

          “I just want peace.” Will hated the whine in his voice.

          “And you think you’ll find that here?”

          “Why wouldn’t I?”

          “I love composing, I find it meditative and relaxing.” Hannibal paused to watch Will cast his line again. “But it’s not what brings me peace.”

          Will thought he could see antlers peeking from the water where his line landed. He closed his eyes. He could see the peace Hannibal wanted. It was coated in blood and specks of gore. He would burn the world to the ground, creating horrible art with Will by his side. The empath shuddered at the thought, his heart beating erratically at the thought. A bloody ballet with Hannibal was many things – thrilling, beautiful, tempting – but it wasn’t peaceful.

          “That won’t bring me peace.”

          “How do you know?”

          “Just because I can see your mind doesn’t mean I want to experience it.” Will grimaced at himself. He sounded like Jack.

          “You like feeling righteous.” Hannibal offered, reeling in his line and casting it again. “You enjoyed the death of Mr. Hobbs because you can pretend it was something you had to do.”

          “I don’t- I- that was righteous. It’s not the same.” Will thought about the long nights in bed after the shooting. Reliving the feeling of exhilaration he’d felt when Hobbs’ blood flew across his face. The knowledge that he’d earned himself a daughter, and perhaps a co-parent with his actions. That he’d made himself a family. “The things you do, the things I see, I don’t delight in them like you do.”

          “How do you know you won’t delight? You’ve only ever allowed yourself to tolerate.” Hannibal angled his pole, dancing the lure along the water. Will questioned whether he’d learned that from a fishing book or if he’d snuck down to the river to watch Will fish. “What scares you more, Will? The violence in your visions, or the fact that it doesn’t frighten you?”

          “I know what’s right.” He did. Even if he didn’t want to, he did. Another tug on his line mercifully drew his attention from his thoughts. He reeled in the bluegill with little fanfare, happy to have something to do.

          “But is what’s right what you desire?” Hannibal’s full attention was on Will now. Will felt the gaze like a weight in his throat. The fish was cool in his fingers, Will focused on the feel of the wet thrashing creature. “Or is it what you know you should desire?”

          “Yes.” Will slipped the steel tip of the stringer through the mouth of another bluegill, latching it onto the line before dropping it back into the water to swim with their other catches. “I’m not like you.”

          “I’m well aware.” Hannibal tipped his head, looking at the stringer. “They continue to swim, even though they’re hooked.”

          “Yes. They want to live.”

          “They wish for something, though that is not their reality.” Hannibal swirled a hand in the water and watched as the fish tried to scatter on their tethers. “Look how hard they fight to deny what is obvious.”

          “I’m not a fish.” Will sounded petulant to his own ears.

          “And yet you insist on swimming upstream at every stroke.”

          “When a monster’s chasing you, fighting the current doesn’t seem so bad.”

          Hannibal stilled, his eyes turned dark and sharp in the afternoon sun. His fingers clenched and suddenly Will felt the hairs on his neck stand up. There was danger there, in that stone face. Something ugly and angry clawed at the person suit. Will found he wanted to meet it.

          Hannibal released a breath, his face and body releasing its tension. “I should head back, begin preparations for dinner.”

          Hannibal dipped his hand into the water again, reaching for the stringer, Will lunged forward, grabbing it. “Let me?”

          “Let you what?” Hannibal’s eyes were fixed on their joined hands. It wasn’t enough, Will needed to see his eyes, see who he was talking to – monster or man.

          “Let me make dinner,” Will tugged at Hannibal’s hand. Bloodstained eyes flicked up to Will’s. “For you.”

          Will watched carefully, anticipating a snide remark about canned sauces or fish sticks. He wasn’t prepared when Hannibal smiled like a real person. His lips pulled back into a crooked grin, plumping his cheeks, and revealing uneven teeth. The bloody eyes seemed to dance, the fine skin around them crinkling with genuine joy.

          Will’s heart lurched. He tightened his grip on Hannibal’s hand.

          “May I help you?”

          Will shook his head. He couldn’t be around that face and be expected to concentrate. “Nah, just set the table. I’m sure you can find a skull in the woods somewhere.”

          Hannibal’s lips closed, but the joy stayed on his face. “I’ll come up with something.”

          Will released Hannibal’s hand, sinking it in the cold water to pull the stringer up. Three bluegills flapped in protest as they were yanked from the river, dangling midair by their mouths. “We only need two, who gets to go?”

          Hannibal tilted his head. “How would you choose?”

          Will considered for a moment, then pointed. “These two would be the best eating.”

          Will pulled a finger along the stringer, watching as one fish snapped at it, still fighting to pull loose and hit the water. It had been the first fish Hannibal caught, swimming on the stringer the longest, but it hadn’t lost any of its drive for freedom. Will smiled at the creature.

          “Let this one go.” He tapped the fighter. It was bigger, and would probably have made a better dinner than the smaller fish, but Will didn’t mind the idea of taking the smaller fillets.  

          Hannibal hummed and Will wondered if he passed or failed Hannibal’s little test.

          Releasing the end of the stringer, Will carefully pulled off the first fish and tossed it into his cooler. The second fish came off easily, joining the first. When Will freed the final fish, he held the wildly fighting body out to Hannibal.

          “You caught him, you should free him.”

          Hannibal took the fish without hesitation, holding up the thrashing creature so he could look in its eyes. “Have a good journey, Will.”

          He lowered the fish into the waters and released it, watching as it streaked away from them down to the bend in the river.

          “So, you’ll just let Will go?” Will’s chest felt tight. He found he didn’t like the implication.

          “Of course.” Hannibal stirred the waters with his fingers. He looked like a conjurer. “He’ll return to be caught again tomorrow. That’s the way of Wills.”

          Will raised his hand to Hannibal’s face, redirecting it to pat the doctor on the chest. “Just don’t name the others.”

          “I’ve never had a problem naming my food.” Hannibal gestured for Will to lead the way. “Now let’s get Franklyn and Frederick into the kitchen, shall we?”

          Will laughed, bright and loud. He picked up the cooler and whistled for the dogs. As he walked home, he felt Hannibal fall into step beside him, a comforting heat as the light drained from the sky.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Up: A long chapter. I'm not kidding. It's like 10K words. Would y'all like me to break that into two sections (Sunday Evening/Sunday Night) or do you want to read the whole chunk all at once? Let me know and I'll try to do what the majority wants. As for what's actually happening - there's dinner, a fight, and some biting...


	7. Sunday Evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bite to eat, and then just a bite...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK SO...I'm a terrible author who has responded to very few comments from last week, but I have an excuse. I broke my toe and honestly? I haven't felt like doing much but whining and propping my foot up. I promise, I'll be responding to some tonight! Please forgive me. 
> 
> ALSO! It looks like overwhelmingly the "Longer Chapter" faction has won. So...I'm sorry if that's not what you voted for. I hope this reads well enough to keep your interest!

          Will could feel Hannibal watching him as he set up the grill. He closed his eyes and let the doctor’s gaze wash over him. If he had to guess, when he turned, Hannibal would be smiling.

          “I thought you were going to set up the table?” Will said as he lit the charcoal starter.

          He turned to see Hannibal leaning on the porch, smiling as he observed Will. “I was merely coming out here to ask how much time I had before dinner.”

          Hannibal had watched him clean and gut the fish, then prepare the marinade. Will had thought the doctor would try to add or correct Will’s recipe, but he was content to just quietly observe as Will poured his mixture of fennel, oil, garlic, and orange juice over the cleaned fish.

          “Well, I’ve got to figure out a side dish, but this cooks up pretty fast.” Will squinted when Hannibal made no comment or move. “What?”

          “It suits you,” Hannibal said, stepping off the porch and toward Will. “Cooking with fire, it’s very elemental.”

          “Like a caveman?” Will raised a brow.

          “Like something untamed.”

          “I’m pretty tame, Doctor.”

          Hannibal was close enough to touch, he brought a hand to Will’s face, fingertips hovering over the empath’s mouth. Will could feel the pull toward those hands, he snarled against the impulse. Hannibal grinned. “And yet you show me your teeth at every chance.”

          “You like my teeth.” Will refused to step back, to offer Hannibal a concession. A small part of his brain considered whether Hannibal was counting on that. “You provoke me every chance you get.”

          “Am I really so provocative?” Hannibal ran a hand along the grill, making hollow metal music as his fingers passed the bars.

          “You know what you’re doing.”

          Hannibal looked up, a peculiar expression on his face. He looked lost and extraordinarily human in the low light. “Usually I do.”

          “Go inside.” It sounded like a plea to Will’s ears. “Make some stuffy salad to go with grilled fish.”

          Hannibal nodded, the people suit stitching back together over his face. “After I’ve found a skull for the table.”

          Will listened to the quiet footfall into the house, Hannibal had a light step even in waterproof work boots. When he was sure he was alone, he let out a shaking breath.

          This was dangerous.

          He could feel the edges of his sense of self blurring, reshaping into something darker, sharper – something Hannibal would approve of. This exercise was supposed to expose Hannibal’s farce; prove that someone like Dr. Lecter had no feelings to speak of and someone like Will wouldn’t tolerate manipulation and death.

          Only…

          Will wanted to call Hannibal back. He could see them cooking, hip to hip in the kitchen. He could see them laughing over a meal. He could see them debating something by the fire, eyes licked with flames as they danced around each other’s defenses. He could see his head on Hannibal’s chest. He could see blood spattered kisses. He could see the hint of things he wouldn’t even let himself consider.

          Gripping the sides of the grill, Will breathed deep. This wasn’t what he wanted. He always got confused when he was with Hannibal. He would get turned around. And yet, he kept seeking the doctor out, kept allowing himself to be turned.

          Will huffed. He should call Jack. He should walk in, grab his phone and the dogs, and end this charade. He didn’t have much they could use, but he was beginning to worry they wouldn’t have anything at all if he let Hannibal stay any longer.

          He nodded to himself, letting the cool wind bolster him as he marched into the house. Will paused in the living room, dogs whirling around his feet and the sound of humming coming from his kitchen.

          He could do this.

          He had to do this.

          He needed to-

          “Something wrong?” Hannibal leaned out of the kitchen door, bangs flopping in his face as he looked at Will. He looked like he belonged, like he and Will had made a hundred dinners together, bonded forever by little kitchen mishaps and rituals.

          Will shook his head. “Just _uh_ just grabbing the fish.”

          Hannibal nodded but something curious passed behind his eyes. He watched Will intently.

          Tightening his jaw, Will brushed by Hannibal and into the kitchen. He paused at the fridge to pick up the bag of marinating fish and two oranges before stomping out.

          He let the door bang behind him, never once glancing at his cellphone.

* * *

 

          Will fussed longer than he normally would with the plate of fish. He nudged an orange slice back and forth in the open cavity of the bluegill, trying to find an angle that looked appealing. He had tried to fan the sliced fennel out artistically, but it had curled over the heat of the grill and now looked like gnarled fingers emerging from the fish.

          Maybe Hannibal would like that?

          Shaking his head Will grabbed the plate and put the top down on the grill to let the coals cool overnight. It would be a miracle if Hannibal took more than a bite, aesthetics was asking too much.

          He wasn’t surprised to see the fire going when he entered the house. Hannibal had emerged with the dogs while Will was working, and within a few minutes Will heard the steady thump of the ax in the distance. He debated sneaking away from the fish to watch Hannibal perform manual labor - an idea that was somehow more illicit than the fantasy he had entertained the previous evening. But Harley liked snatching at food from the grill and it would be his luck the mutt would singe her maw on the fish grate. So he stood inhaling warm fennel and citrus as he pictured Hannibal swinging an ax. The cord of wood turned into skulls in his mind’s eye, the Wendigo placing each carefully on the chopping block for Hannibal’s sure hands.

          Will could discern a movement in the kitchen and smiled at the thought of catching Hannibal in a domestic moment. He toed off his boots and crept to the doorway, his mouth quirking upright.

          He expected to find candles and flowers draped over the table, and was temporarily taken back by the Spartan layout before him. Two vases of simple wild flowers, some of which Will had picked the night before sat in the middle of the table. Something glinted in the light of the kitchen, wrapped around the base of the vases. Will stepped closer and his breath caught.

          There, swimming in the shallows between the ceramic ware was Will’s clay catfish, artfully angled to look as though it was prowling for food. In its mouth was the lure Hannibal crafted, a tuft of dog hair woven expertly around the hook. Will couldn’t help the smile or the small amused noise he made.

          “Do you approve?” Hannibal turned, a dish of something bright and fruity in his hand.

          “Subtle.”

          “I find the direct approach works best on you.”

          Will raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He slid the biggest fish onto Hannibal’s plate before serving himself. Hannibal smiled, before dishing the fruit salad, making sure to give Will the larger portion.

          “What am I about to eat?”

          “I know this kitchen contains mostly cans, but surely even you recognize oranges and pomegranates?”

          Will rolled his eyes. Hannibal huffed.

          “Mediterranean pomegranate, onion and orange salad, finished with some mint and a red wine-honey reduction.”

          “Really getting the most out of that gallon, huh?”

          Hannibal smiled. “And I have nearly a quart left.”

          Will shook his head and tucked into his food. The fish tasted right, so at least he hadn’t burned anything while picturing Hannibal chopping wood; but the salad – that was a revelation. Bright sharp flavors burst on his tongue only to be soothed by a mild sweetness. He gobbled at the salad, taking in every bit of care Hannibal put into the dish. He found he was ravenous for it.

          When he looked up, he saw that Hannibal dissecting the fish and bringing small perfect bites to his mouth to savor. Will felt embarrassed that such attention was being given to such a simple dish, but Hannibal’s eyes remained closed as he sampled the food.

          While Hannibal feasted, Will tried to silently spoon some more of the fruit salad onto his plate, wincing when the spoon clanked against the bowl.

          Hannibal’s eyes opened in a flash, and brimmed with satisfaction, though he said nothing.

          They both chewed in silence, Will glaring at his plate until he felt it. A warm weight pressing against his foot. He didn’t need to look down to know a sock clad foot was shimmying against his own. Will fought the smile that tried to upturn his mouth, shoving at Hannibal’s foot with his own. Will wondered if Hannibal had given up when he heard the quiet _shush_ of the sock as it inched back his way.

          Keeping his eyes on his plate, Will forbade himself from smiling. But he couldn’t seem to stop the silent laughter that shook his shoulders. When he chanced a glance up, he saw Hannibal watching Will with that goofy grin, all crooked teeth and twinkling eyes. Will narrowed his eyes, aiming a spoonful of pomegranates at Hannibal.

          “We both know you won’t waste it.” The teasing warmth in Hannibal’s voice made Will’s spoon shake. He dropped it rather than display his trembling. With a flex of his neck Will picked up the spoon and began eating again, a flush creeping up his neck. When the foot came back to rest against his own, he made no move to shoo it away.

          “Would you mind giving me the recipe for this?” Hannibal said, forking the last of his fish into his mouth. “It’s delicate, but flavorful.”

          “Don’t patronize me.” Will felt the heat seeping up his neck and over his cheeks. He hated himself for allowing the reaction.

          “I’m not, it’s really quite enjoyable.” Hannibal leaned forward and speared a piece of Will’s fish, popping it into his mouth. “As is the company.”

          “Rude, Doctor Lecter.” Will speared an orange slice off Hannibal’s plate in revenge.

          “Just acknowledging that we both enjoy what the other has to offer.”

          Will scoffed. “I might not throw the fruit at you, but I still have fish, a vase or this water to choose from.”

          Hannibal hummed and took another bite, his foot still resting against Will’s.

* * *

 

          “Did you have a plan for dessert?” Hannibal asked as he washed the last of the dishes. Will stood beside him, damp dish towel in hand, waiting for Hannibal to hand him the fork he was working on. He had run this scenario in his head several times, but he told himself it was the encephalitis that made him conjure it. Now, it felt just as warm and familiar as he dreamed and the knowledge made Will want to flee.

          “In this house dessert is usually whiskey.”

          “May I make something?” Hannibal held out the fork. Will let his fingers graze the doctor’s as he took the utensil. He typically flung his dishes in the drying rack to drip, but he took each offering from Hannibal and carefully dried it off. How many other offerings would he eagerly accept?

          Will dropped the fork into the drying rack and tossed the towel on the counter, backing away. “Sure. I’ll let the dogs out again.”

          The night air was cold, the wind whipping it around Will’s ears and legs as it coiled through the backyard. The dogs didn’t seem to notice, nosing at the ground and snapping at each other’s tails. Buster took off after something in the low brush, disappearing into the tree line. Will felt a stab of fear, imagining Tier and his mechanical maw waiting for the little terrier. He shook his head, he’d protected his pack from that and he’d protect them from anything else that came along.

          A cold nose nudged at his fingertips and Will smiled before looking down at Winston. The dog stood himself between Will and the house, pushing gently at his master to move farther away.

          “Still not a fan, huh?” Will asked, letting his fingers sink into the downy fur behind Winston’s left ear. “He grows on you.”

          Winston whined, nudging Will toward the trees.

          Will looked up at the house, dark but for the fire in the living room. The windows glowed orange in the dark, with a flickering light that spoke of burning heat. The house didn’t look like a boat on the ocean, but the mouth of a grim cave, promising some sort of underworld in its depth.

          And yet, he still felt safe. He found himself pondering the depths of that cave and where it would lead, especially when a silhouette filled the doorway, a black body emerging from the firelight.

          “Will? The food is ready.” The black figure retreated, Will wondered if the flicker of horns he perceived around its head was merely a trick of the light.

          Winston whined, pushing at Will’s calf. The other dogs milled in the yard, some following Hannibal’s shadow into the house.

          “Come on, Winston,” Will soothed. “Let’s sit by the fire.”

          Will moved to the house, pausing when Winston stayed by the trees. “Winston, come.”

          The dog whined again, shifting from foot to foot.

          “Winston.” Will frowned at the hard note in his voice. This was a tone usually reserved for Buster, who sprung from a bramble behind Winston and vaulted toward the house.

          Winston hesitated for a breath longer before trotting to Will. The dog stayed by his side as they made their way to the fiery doorway.

* * *

 

          Hannibal had been busy nesting by the fire when Will returned. He had built the flames to a roaring blaze, then moved the chairs and assorted cushions to create a picnic area before the flames. Settled beside the dogs, happily sprawling his long legs across the area was Hannibal, holding out what looked like a bowl of ice cream.

          “Cardamom and whiskey caramel sauce drizzled over something called Great Value Vanilla Ice Cream,” Hannibal said as Will settled.

          Will took a bite and let his eyes fall shut. Sweet and spicy with just a hint of depth.

          It was perfect.

          Will screwed his eyes shut tighter, letting bursts of color bloom behind his lids. It was not perfect. It was a lie. It was a manipulation and if he didn’t call it out soon he’d start to believe it.

          “You’re really going all out with this little farce, aren’t you?” Will sat the ice cream on the floor, swatting absently at Buster when he sniffed toward it.

          “What farce would that be?” Hannibal went still again, like he had in the river. A prickling sensation ran down Will’s spine, an innate reaction to danger.

          “This.” Will swept his hand around the room. “Nights by the fire with the dogs, fishing in the river, little domestic dinner together, Walmart ingredients and cheap clothes.”

          “I never said this was my preferred wardrobe or environment,” Hannibal’s voice was hard. “But I am adaptable.”

          Will saw a tear in Hannibal’s person suit, the seam weakening just under the twitch in his left eye. He dug his fingers into the opening and pulled. “You’re a liar. You really think playing the happy house cannibal is going to sway me? You think I don’t see through this? It’s a base manipulation, Dr. Lecter. One worthy of girls who tell their crush they like football too.”

          “I have enjoyed this weekend, Will.” Hannibal’s eyes were black in the firelight. “As have you.”

          The seams were starting to show on Hannibal’s face. Will smiled. “It’s easy to enjoy a lie.”

          “And what of the farce of Will Graham – Great Moral Arbiter and Martyr?” Hannibal snapped. Will felt himself freeze as the monster emerged from Hannibal’s person suit. “Your very existence is a lie.”

          “You want it to be a lie.” Will couldn’t quite meet Hannibal’s gaze.

          “I know it is one. So, did Alana. That’s why I’m here and she fled.” Hannibal tilted his head. “She can’t see you, Will, because she won’t. I can see you, even when you hide.”

          Will thought of Alana. Simple, beautiful, good Alana, who he knew could save him from the darkness, from the horrors that whispered in his mind. The woman who knew, innately that there was something wrong with him and rejected him to save herself. He couldn’t blame her for that, but he could blame her for picking Hannibal. 

          “She can’t be that intuitive, she’s fucking you.” Will spat, shoving himself forward to loom over Hannibal.

          “Your fear of your darkness puts cracks in your person suit. It’s easy to see how terrified you are of yourself,” Hannibal said simply. “No one sees me unless I want them to.”

          “I see you.”

          Hannibal was on his knees in a flash, face inches from Will’s as he snarled. Will knew he should recoil, back down and retreat before he prodded Hannibal into something bloody. He thought of how his mind had crafted his end, how Hannibal would display him. Will thought of those strong hands buried in his gut and leaned closer into Hannibal’s wrath.

          “I let you see me, I allowed you that.” Hannibal’s voice was low and dangerous, but there was something in the tone, something that made Will want to stroke the doctor’s hair, press a soft touch into the tense lines of his shoulders. He clenched his hands to rid himself of the thought. “I offer you a rare gift and you hate yourself for wanting it!”

          Hannibal raised a hand, Will closed his eyes. It wouldn’t be quick, but Will had no doubt he’d be beautiful before Hannibal was finished. When he was still breathing after a few heartbeats, Will opened his eyes. Hannibal looked teary, but determined. Standing abruptly and grabbing both dishes of ice cream, Hannibal left Will to stew by the flames.

          “You think you’re in love,” Will said, breathless as he scrambled after Hannibal’s retreating form. “This isn't a mentor-ship. You think this is love.”

          Hannibal slopped the ice creams into the trash before bringing the bowls to the sink. His shoulders were tense as he began to wash the dishes.

          “You’re not capable of love,” It was a reminder to Will as much as Hannibal, though the empath felt sick even saying it.   

          “I’m not capable of the banalities you think you want.” Hannibal continued to wash; Will watched as the muscles corded and stretched beneath the cheap flannel shirt. “But I am capable of love.”

          Uttered so softly, Will thought for one frantic moment he was experiencing auditory hallucinations. His heart was hammering in his chest. This was it. This was the lie Will wanted to believe. The lie he needed to expose. “Blood, death and opera aren’t love, Hannibal, they’re performance.”

          “What is it you’d qualify as love?” Hannibal had stopped moving, the water rushed by from the faucet as he stood still looking at nothing.

          There was a boning knife missing from the drying rack Will noted, before stepping closer, putting himself in striking range.

          “Someone to sit with me on a cold night, someone who worries when I’m not well, someone who doesn’t try to subvert me at every step, someone-”

          “That’s not love, that’s dog ownership.”

          “To you, maybe.” Will tasted salt on his lips and automatically swiped at the tears on his cheeks.

          “You want more than that, I know you do.” Hannibal sounded so uncertain, Will felt his gut twist at the tone. But this is what he needed to hear, what they both needed to hear.

          “I want what’s good for me.”

          “And what’s that?”

          Will paused. He allowed himself to consider what would happen if he opened the barricaded door in his mind. If he let the creeping dark fingers that always seemed to find their way around the crumbling edges of the door jamb finally push it open. He thought of how horribly wonderful that might feel. His chest shook as he drew in a breath. “I want to be a good man.”

          “That’s not love either, that’s a wish on a star.”

          “What do you want?”

          Hannibal turned, the boning knife glinting in his hand. He stepped closer to Will.

          “I want to lick the blood from your hands after a hunt. I want to read you poetry by the fire. I want to learn how to make that atrocious dog swill you have in the refrigerator. I want to discover every vicious cruel impulse you have and tease out more. I want you to see m-” Hannibal snarled again, then firmly sat the knife on the counter before looking up at Will. “I want you to admit you want it too.” 

          Will looked at the knife. Trust Hannibal to hurt him more without the damn blade. He needed to see the truth. He needed to see this for the manipulation it was before he did something monumentally foolish. He let his eyelids fall and his empathy wash over him.

          As bright bursts of light brought him into Hannibal’s mind, Will could feel the anger. But the anger was directed inward, Hannibal was furious with himself, furious at his weakness, furious at his inability to eliminate Will and go back to his perfectly orchestrated life. He hated himself for including Will in future plans, for being too intrigued to simply eliminate the greatest threat he’d yet to encounter. Will was proof of the one thing Hannibal could not stand to admit: that he was subject to all the baser impulses of humanity, just as the pigs he slaughtered. He loved Will, and he despised that knowledge almost as much as he despised Will for trying to deny it.

          When his eyes opened again, Will felt Hannibal’s hand at the side of his face, stroking his cheek. Will smiled, in a daze when he felt Hannibal’s thumb worry his ear. “You hate this too, don’t you?”

          Hannibal’s mouth quirked. “My feelings for you are…inconvenient.”

          “My feelings for you are wrong.”

          The hand on Will’s face stilled. “But they exist.”

          Will glared, he wasn’t supposed to be fanning the flames. He was supposed to be meeting his end as one of Hannibal’s most beautiful displays. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

          “And yet here we are, trapped in your dog infested house because you refuse to expel me and I refuse to leave without a decision.” Hannibal dropped his hand and stepped back. It took everything in Will not to follow the doctor and chase the heat of his body.

          “I’ve made my decision.” Will nodded to himself. He had. He would call Jack first thing in the morning…after breakfast.

          “I know you have.” Hannibal smiled smugly, and suddenly Will felt as though he’d been caught in some invisible trap.

          Will felt his skin prickle, rage washing over him. This fucking supercilious prick had the nerve to act like this was what he planned? That once again patient Doctor Lecter was waiting for crazy Will Graham to get his head together and realize the obvious? Not again. Not today.

          Will lunged, shoving Hannibal against the sink. The assault knocked the smile from Hannibal’s face, but did nothing to quell Will’s fury.

          “All you had to do was kill me.” Snatching Hannibal by the throat, Will snarled in the doctor’s passive face. “Or leave me to fester with Chilton.”

          Squeezing until Hannibal’s mouth fell open slightly, Will let all his anger flow into his fingers.

          “I was supposed to be alone!” Will shook Hannibal, nails digging into his infuriatingly steady pulse. “I WAS HAPPY ALONE!”

          Hannibal’s lip curled. He twisted in Will’s grip, grabbing onto a pressure point in Will’s wrist and pressing until the empath released him with a cry. He barreled forward, knocking Will onto the kitchen table and bracing him there with his forearm across Will’s neck. Hannibal lowered his face until his nose brushed against Will’s, his eyes black and furious as they glared at the younger man. “SO WAS I.”

          Air was leaving Will’s lungs, his vision wavy as he struggled beneath the impossible bulk of Hannibal’s body. He gasped a few futile times, his lungs deflating slightly with each failed attempt. Dimly, he could hear Winston barking, and he hoped Hannibal wouldn’t kill the dogs. But even as the thought crossed his mind, he dismissed it. Hannibal loved him, he’d take away his life, his friends, and even Abigail – but he wouldn’t hurt the dogs.

          That bone deep knowledge drove Will up, compressing his windpipe further as he fought his way to Hannibal’s mouth. If he was going to die, it would be with the taste of Hannibal on his lips.

          The kiss drew a small noise from Hannibal, whether surprise or joy, Will couldn’t place, but when their mouths broke free, oxygen flooded into Will’s system.

          “This isn’t a choice,” Will panted as he gulped in great gluts of air before yanking Hannibal back to his mouth. “You haven’t won shit. This isn’t a choice. This isn’t a choice.”

          Hannibal hummed into Will’s mouth, breaking the mantra with fervent kisses. He bit at Will’s lower lip and tugged, finally interrupting Will’s chant. Will groaned, wrenching the cheap material of Hannibal’s flannel until the buttons gave way. Wrapping the tatters of material in his hands, Will pulled Hannibal back to him, fitting his mouth to the base of Hannibal’s neck.

          The musky scent was back, strong and warm under the chemical smell of Will’s cheap soaps. Will licked at Hannibal’s neck, mixing his own desperate arousal with the doctor’s. He ran his teeth over the flexing tendon in Hannibal’s throat, scraping at the skin to make the scent sharper. They blended so well together, Will thought distantly, the dark deep notes of Hannibal’s skin and the sharp bitter taste of his own desperate need. He huffed at himself – Hannibal would be so pleased to hear that thought.

          Teeth fastened into Will’s shoulder, biting hard. Though his skin wasn’t broken, Will could feel the mark on his shoulder bloom as Hannibal began to devour him. Will shifted slightly, opening his legs so that Hannibal could fit into him, slotting their groins together. He keened when contact was finally made, Hannibal’s teeth sinking further into his flesh as he began to roll his hips.

          Will thought about what it would look like. The face Jimmy would pull as he took photos of the bite marks. The story Jack would tell himself and others until he was blue in the face. _Will Graham, intrepid investigator bravely faced the gaping maw of Hannibal Lecter in his attempts to subdue the killer._ He didn’t care if Jack was embarrassed or what it meant for a trial. What he wanted, what he really wanted, was Hannibal Lecter’s blood on his tongue, and the doctor’s teeth in his flesh.

          Will snarled, snapping his teeth by Hannibal’s ear. He felt a strong hand grip the back of his head and press him to Hannibal’s neck. Will took the invitation and bit, tearing at a patch of skin just behind Hannibal’s ear. Hannibal made a guttural sound, shoving harder into the cradle of Will’s hips. Will arched his back, a strangled noise coming unbidden from his throat as the first trickles of metallic blood ran past his teeth.

          With blood in the air, their movements became frenzied, rutting into each other as they tore little pieces of each other away. Will’s shoulder would be purple in the morning, he couldn’t wait to see it. He could hear the dogs whining from the doorway and froze. What they must look like, tearing into each other and calling it love. He had to stop this. It wasn’t too late.

          He still had a choice.  

          Will shoved at Hannibal’s shoulder, frowning slightly when he moved back.

          “Will?” Hannibal’s lips were split-slick and open, the doctor’s hair a mangled hank falling over his eyes.

          Will steeled himself, ready to do the right thing and pay the consequences. But when he opened his mouth, all he managed was “bed.”

          Hannibal nodded, panting as he paused to run a thumb over Will’s bloody lips. Will nipped at the pad before leaning forward to lick at the trickle of blood running down Hannibal’s neck. He’d made the Chesapeake Ripper bleed, and now, he’d take his hand and lead him to his bed.

          Will found his legs weren’t steady as he walked, but Hannibal’s solid weight behind him, hands tangled in his shirt as he undid the buttons, helped propel him forward. The living room felt warm; Will wasn’t sure if it was the fire, or Hannibal’s hands snaking around his chest to tug lightly at his nipples. The doctor’s mouth was back, worrying a new bruise into Will’s shoulder as they moved toward the bed.

          The dogs milled around their feet. Winston nudged at Will, trying to get his attention. Will waved them off, commanding them to go lie down with an unsteady voice. The dogs reluctantly sought out their cushions, except for Buster, who jumped on the ottoman again.

          “He’s not supposed to be there,” Will muttered, distracted by Hannibal’s fingers peeling off his shirt, nails running along his ribs.

          “I admire those that don’t abide by convention.” Hannibal opened Will’s pants while his teeth found the shell of Will’s ear. His hand slipped into Will’s boxers, fingers slowly encasing his cock. “But I don’t particularly care where he finds himself right now, as long as it’s not on the bed.”

          Will’s head sank backwards onto Hannibal’s shoulder. The scent of blood and skin grew thick in the fire-warmed air. He let Hannibal stroke him, little needy noises catching in his throat as he lapped at the bloodstained tear beneath Hannibal’s ear. “Stop talking.”

          “Do you have a suggestion for a better activity?” Hannibal thumbed the head of Will’s cock before resuming his motions.

          Will made a noise that sounded slurred to his own ears but was meant to be some sort of assent. Hannibal must have understood, because he sidestepped the weight of Will’s body. Will could feel himself being lowered onto the bed, the scratchy wool blanket prickling his heated skin. He had just about convinced his head to shift up, to look for Hannibal when he felt strong fingers curling around his waistband.

          Hannibal pulled Will’s pants and boxers down, dragging his nails along Will’s sensitive flesh. Will felt flayed, his skin running hot and cold all at once as he struggled to kick out of his pants. When he was bare Will looked up then, only to see Hannibal looming at the end of the bed.

          Silhouetted by flames, Hannibal was an ebony shadow as he lowered himself over Will’s cock. When he felt Hannibal tongue the slit, Will let out a strangled cry. In the back of his mind, he hoped he hadn’t worried the dogs enough to have any of them wander over to investigate. That thought, and any others were driven from Will’s body as Hannibal wrapped his lips around the head of Will’s cock and sucked.

          Will made a gasping noise, choking on his own pleasure as he allowed Hannibal Lecter to devour him. He whined when strong fingers wrapped around his hips, stilling the frantic bucking Will couldn’t seem to help. Desperate to find purchase, something to ground him to the moment, Will tangled his hands in Hannibal’s hair. He was vaguely surprised not to feel horns sprouting from beneath the strands.

          Hannibal drew back, letting his teeth scrape lightly over Will’s shaft. Will’s brain filled with images of those crooked teeth sinking into flesh, tearing, and gorging on his victims. He shuddered at the thought, his balls drawing tight to his body as he let Hannibal consume him.

          “Will.”

          Will blinked. The air hitting his spit-slick shaft making him tremble under Hannibal’s hands. He made a noise, it might have been _what?_ before it garbled on his useless tongue.

          “Will, are you with me?”

          Will nodded, his head bobbing dumbly. He reached out trying to grab at Hannibal’s head again, bring that terrifying mouth back to him.

          Hannibal smiled. “How do you feel about sex?”

          Will sighed. Of course, Hannibal would have to turn this into a fucking _thing_. His cock was still shiny from the man’s mouth, but by all means, let’s fucking discuss this.

          “I like doing it better than talking about it.” Will grumbled.

          Hannibal smiled, huffing softly to himself. He rose from the bed to shed his suit pants and his torn flannel. Encased in flames, Will wasn’t sure if he was talking to the Wendigo or the man anymore. He wasn’t sure it even mattered.

          Crawling onto the bed, Hannibal lay beside Will. It was a tight squeeze, but Will found himself curling into the heat of Hannibal’s body. He pawed at Hannibal’s chest, scratching through the thatch of silver hair that peppered the doctor’s pecs. He watched red trails form in his wake and felt warm all over at the idea that he had changed Hannibal, reshaped him in even the most superficial way.

          Hannibal used his nose to nudge at Will’s mouth, humming when Will obligingly tipped his mouth up to meet Hannibal’s. The kisses had less teeth to them now, but Will found them no less satisfying. He began suckling at Hannibal’s cupid’s bow, rubbing his lips raw on the stubble of his chin as he made small entreating noises.

          “Would you retrieve the lubricant?” Hannibal’s voice was rough and low, Will took a moment to appreciate the timbre, another little piece of Hannibal he had reformed to suit himself. It took his brain a few more kisses to catch up to the words Hannibal had said.

          “Lubricant?” His heart lurched, wildly attempting to burst through his ribs. Hannibal would probably find that quite beautiful.

          “Do you have something else you prefer to use on me?” Hannibal was busy pressing kisses to Will’s ear, but Will could hear the smile in his tone plainly enough.

          “Use…on you?” Will squinted at Hannibal as he stole more kisses. At this distance, the doctor was a blur of bloodstained eyes and tan skin.

          Hannibal trailed his mouth along the edge of Will’s beard, teeth catching at the knob of his jaw. “I think it would be best if we use lubricant of some variety, don’t you?”

          “I don’t-” Will stopped himself, letting Hannibal’s teeth knead at the flesh beneath his chin. He’d run this scenario so many times in his head. Sometimes they were on a beach, safe from the world. Sometimes they were in BSHCI, Will yanking Hannibal through the bars by his stupid tie. Sometimes, they were in a river of blood, bathed red and glorious. But in all those imaginings, he’d never thought, never prepared for – “There’s no lubricant.”

          “I purchased some Friday, I believe it’s by your nightstand,” Hannibal nodded behind Will’s head.

          Will thrashed, turning in Hannibal’s arms to slap at the nightstand. He found a small plastic bottle and immediately whirled to face Hannibal. “You bought this Friday?”

          Hannibal’s mouth widened into a toothy grin, “Walmart truly is a super store.”

          Will laughed lightly, pressing his lips to Hannibal’s in hopes that the doctor wouldn’t notice the bottle shaking in his grip. He should have known better. Warm hands wrapped around his own, bringing Will’s knuckles to Hannibal’s lips. “If you have any doubt about this, I’m perfectly content to enjoy your company like this, but I must insist you make a choice about how we proceed.”

          “I-”

          “Not _the_ choice you’ve been dithering with all weekend,” The warmth in Hannibal’s smile soothed Will’s immediate frown. “I’d hate to rush that. But I don’t think it’s asking too much for clear consent.”

          “A polite monster,” Will muttered, letting his hands fall away so he could peck kisses along Hannibal’s chin. “You lurk beneath the beds of people who open candy at the opera and don’t hold doors open. You gobble them up. One big injustice to right little ones.”

          Hannibal hummed. Will thought of his handful of sexual partners, women with understanding smiles who thought they could love the strange out of him. They would buy him better shirts that he’d leave in the closet, they would tell him they’d go fishing but recoil at the smelly gear, they wanted the man they thought they could make him. And when they failed, they left sadder but wiser and Will sunk deeper into his habits.

          But not this man. This man wanted to dress him and show him off, yes, but that wasn’t the crux of Hannibal’s need. He needed to pull back the layers Will hid under and reveal the man Will never wanted to be. The man Will buried under adopted dogs and solitude, lest he free himself and wreak havoc upon the world. The prospect of freeing that man was more terrifying than any silly shirt or office party could ever be. It was everything Will fought against, every impulse that whispered in the back of his head that he’d grown used to ignoring.

          Will found himself nodding before crushing his mouth to Hannibal’s. The kiss grew sloppy, Will trying to lick his way inside Hannibal as they rocked together on the bed. He could feel Hannibal’s nails digging into the flesh of his back and pictured the doctor flaying him of all the protections he’d spent years accruing. It was painful and magnificent, raw flesh for Hannibal to mold and consume.

          When Hannibal pulled back, Will tried to chase him. Hannibal shook his head slightly before nodding at the lube still clutched in Will’s hands. “I believe we’re ready for that.”

          “I don’t know…” But that wasn’t precisely true; Will knew what to do. He’d pictured it hundreds of times, even after he’d discovered the truth and ordered his brain to stop. What he didn’t know was how to make it good. How to make Hannibal arch and writhe until he was completely at Will’s mercy. And the thought that this wouldn’t be as life-changing for Hannibal as it was for Will made the empath’s stomach knot. He scoffed slightly, ducking his head though he knew the flush would still be visible. “I don’t want this to be- How do I-”

          Hannibal plucked the bottle from Will’s grip, flicking open the cap and pouring some of the viscous material onto Will’s fingers. Hannibal pulled the hand closer to his lips, kissing the back of it before lowering it down his chest. “With your hands, Will, just as you’ve imagined.”

          Will’s hands quaked slightly as his knuckles traced through a bramble of chest hair and over the soft, slightly rounded plane of Hannibal’s stomach. He made a note to revisit every inch he passed, to map Hannibal’s body with teeth and tongue. Pausing when he felt the scratch of curly hair at the base of Hannibal’s erection, Will took a moment to feel the weight of Hannibal’s cock. Gently lifting the thick, turgid flesh from the doctor’s thigh, Will squeezed the length experimentally before stroking it.

          Hannibal made a low noise and Will marveled at the small, involuntary twitch in Hannibal’s hips – a slight crack in his impassive veneer.

          Will’s breath shook as Hannibal shifted, letting his legs fall apart. Gently, he took Will’s wrist and lead him lower, fingers grazing along Hannibal’s inner thighs and balls. Hannibal’s breath caught as Will flexed his fingers, brushing over his opening. Something loosened in Will’s chest and he chanced a glance up into Hannibal’s eyes.

          Mouth parted ever so slightly, Will realized Hannibal was panting. He stroked over Hannibal’s hole again, pushing just slightly at the tight muscle he found – a mere suggestion of penetration. Will kept his eyes on Hannibal’s face, watching as little pieces of the doctor’s person suit shattered and fell away. And weren’t the little glimpses of the monster he spied beneath the veneer beautiful?

          “With my hands,” Will whispered before pressing into the give of Hannibal’s body.

          The first thing that struck Will was the ease of his intrusion, as if Hannibal had been waiting this whole weekend solely to open up to him. The next was the overwhelming heat of Hannibal’s body, drawing Will in and setting him ablaze. Carefully Will drew himself out only to add another finger and dive back into Hannibal’s body.

          Will shifted, allowing Hannibal to lay back on the mattress as he propped himself up on his elbow. The angle was a little easier, but Will was floored by what seeing Hannibal prone and naked before him did to his heart. He wanted to curl around this dangerous beast, keep him from those that would take his teeth and throw him in a cage.

          Hannibal arched from the mattress at some slight movement of Will’s hand. Will froze and for one fevered second worried that Hannibal could see into his thoughts.

          “Curve your fingers slightly upw-” Hannibal lost his words as Will obeyed. Will could feel Hannibal’s breath on his face, hot and rapid as he kept caressing that wonderful spot that seemed to make Hannibal human all at once.

          By the time he had added a third finger, Will was beginning to learn Hannibal’s body – when he should brush against the doctor’s prostate, when he should press little kisses into Hannibal’s neck to get him to tremble around his flexing fingers, when to whisper little endearments that drew tiny choked noises from the doctor’s lips. It was intoxicating, breaking Hannibal apart for once instead of allowing the doctor to disassemble him. Will had torn away a significant chunk of the person suit only to find a beautiful writhing creature beneath who shivered and mewled when Will whispered _beautiful_ into the shell of his ear.

          “Will,” The doctor’s voice was so thin and pleading Will hardly recognized it at first. He blinked when Hannibal’s strong hand found his chin and guided Will to his eyes. What he found there were the same beautiful bloody eyes as always, shining with unshed tears and full of such reverence that Will froze utterly incapable of movement. “Please, Will, it’s time.”

          Will nodded, picking up the lube and slicking himself with shaking hands. Hannibal sat up, turning to settle on his knees. Will stopped him, a hand gripping at the base of Hannibal’s throat, thumb pressing into the patch of flesh torn from below his ear. Will settled his monster back down to the mattress. “I want to see you.”

          Hannibal’s eyes shimmered in the firelight and Will thought he could see the last piece of the person suit fall away. Hannibal lay back upon Will’s bed – a beautiful monster mottled with Will’s teeth marks and kisses.

          Will moved to kneel between Hannibal’s thighs. He took in the man before him and smiled, shifting forward. He teased the head of his cock against Hannibal’s hole, just to see the monster inside Hannibal snarl and lash out. When Hannibal moved to grab at Will’s neck, he smacked it away. He pinned the arm above Hannibal’s head snarling into the doctor’s mouth as he thrust inside.

          They both cried out at once, moaning into the scant air between their mouths. Will’s vision prickled, he felt as if he’d been dunked in water only to emerge into a fire. Every inch of his skin felt too hot and too tight, he couldn’t bear the thought of it ever feeling any differently again.

          “Christ,” Will muttered, rolling his hips again. He dropped his hands to Hannibal’s hips kneading at the hard bone and soft flesh he found. “Jesus Hannibal, Jesus.”

          Hannibal arched his back when Will sank home again, tightening his body to keep the empath anchored to him. Will made a guttural noise, this would be over sooner than he wanted if Hannibal kept that up. Another thrust, another calculated compression that had Will’s toes curling and curses spilling from his lips.

          Grabbing Hannibal’s thigh, Will hefted it up and back, opening Hannibal’s body and allowing him to sink deeper. It took control from Hannibal and Will watched as the doctor warred with allowing Will to mete out pleasure as he saw fit.

          “Give me this,” Will pleaded, rolling his hips and biting at Hannibal’s shoulder, purpling the skin beneath his teeth.

          Hannibal made no reply, but the tension leached from his body. He relaxed into Will’s hold, giving himself over to the empath. Will looked into Hannibal’s eyes and smiled, he pushed Hannibal’s thigh higher, hooking the knee over his left shoulder. His chest burned with pride when the next thrust into Hannibal made the doctor’s mouth part, a little gasp escaping his lips.

          “That’s it,” Will praised, leaning forward to wrap his hand around Hannibal’s cock and pump him slowly. “Just perfect…beautiful.”

          “Will,” His name sounded like a prayer on Hannibal’s lips. The tears were back in Hannibal’s eyes and Will felt his heart hammering at the openness in Hannibal’s expression.

          “I’ve got you,” Will whispered through clenched teeth, trying to hold on a bit longer, to quell the electricity in his spine and draw out Hannibal’s pleasure. He tightened his hand around Hannibal’s cock, pumping frantically as his hips pistoned.

          “You do,” Hannibal sounded breathless in his bliss, tears spilling softly from the corners of his eyes. Leaning forward, Will licked at Hannibal’s cheeks consuming his tears, tasting his monster’s joy. Will could feel the warmth building in his chest, the way Hannibal’s fingernails seemed to dig the truth out of him as they sank into his back. He could feel words of love laying thick and unspoken on his tongue. He could feel hope welling in his chest that there was a way he could have this man, this life and not be lost to it. He could feel himself wanting to make a choice.

          Will crushed their mouths together and hoped he could pour all that terrible love into Hannibal without saying a word.

          Hannibal went rigid beneath Will, his teeth catching and digging in to the meat of the empath’s bottom lip. He came with a groan, Will’s blood slipping down his throat. Will fucked him through the tremors, fingers working Hannibal’s cock until the doctor made another pleading noise. Will’s vision was going light, noises felt muffled as he could feel the pleasure pooling low and electric in his groin.

          He offered Hannibal his hand moaning when a nimble tongue began lapping at the semen coated fingers. When Hannibal drew his fingers into his mouth and sucked, Will lost his rhythm, his back bowing as fine tremors broke out through his body. He felt lost, awash in a sea of thoughts and sensations. Just as he felt his mind drift a sharp pain drew his focus.

          Hannibal still held Will’s fingers in his mouth, teeth bared and pressed into the flesh. Hannibal looked wild in that moment, feral eyes glinting in the dying fire, hair a tangled nest atop his head. He’d lost all the carefully crafted blankness he had spent a lifetime cultivating. This man below Will was a beast of unlimited appetites and danger.

          A beast who held his teeth, waiting for Will’s command.

          “Do it,” Will grunted, his other hand digging into Hannibal’s hip to leave a mottle of purple fingerprints as he thrust erratically.

          Hannibal bit down, teeth sinking into Will’s index and middle fingers, tongue lapping at the flesh as it tore.

          _Ring_ Will thought, _he’s giving me a ring_.

          Will came with a guttural cry that drew a few barks from their furry audience. He dismissed their attention, focusing instead on keeping himself as deep inside Hannibal Lecter as he could while his body spasmed. He let himself sink forward, confident Hannibal could sustain his limp body as he tried to catch his breath and right his mind. The heat from the fire deepened the scents of sex and blood in the air. Will gasped, drawing the aroma into him in great gluts. He felt Hannibal release his bite, but Will made no move to draw out his fingers. Hannibal hummed and continued to gently lap at the bleeding wounds.

          When Will’s brain came back online, he shifted, slipping out of Hannibal and drawing his fingers to his face to inspect. The bitemarks were deep, he’d wear them for the rest of his life. Hannibal had scarred him, left a permanent claim just as Will had when he’d sent Matthew to leave his mark by proxy. 

          “Why not the ring finger?” Will asked, licking at the blood oozing from the wound and tasting Hannibal.

          “In the heat of the moment, I’m afraid I rather lost track of the symbolism,” Hannibal was boneless beneath Will, stretched out like a contented cat. Will smiled at the image, pressing it into the foundation of the memory palace he was building – the bedrock of his new shelter now that Hannibal had surmounted all the mental forts he had built. “What will Uncle Jack say when he sees all this?”

          Will snorted. “He’ll probably praise me for fighting you so hard.”

          “You did hold your own quite admirably,” Hannibal ran a hand through Will’s tangled curls. Will felt a bone deep exhaustion settle into him and he slumped over Hannibal’s chest. He made a vague motion toward the bathroom.

          “I should…washcloth or something,” Will blinked settling his bitten fingers on Hannibal’s chest so he could look at the wounds and smile.

          Hannibal’s fingers sank deeper into Will’s scalp, massaging. “Leave it. There’s nothing that can’t wait until the morning.” 

          Will lolled his head back into those strong fingers, letting Hannibal’s hand rub at his skull – sinking into his brain and reforming it to whatever shape pleased him. He was exhausted, his eyes heavy, his body littered with wounds from their love. He wanted to stay up and catalog each one so he’d never forget them, but he needed to sleep.

          “This wasn-” He slurred into Hannibal’s chest, mouth slack as he tried to form words. _This wasn’t just sex_ he wanted to say, _this was a blurring a joining so sacred that nothing could possibly unmake us._ He wanted to say that, to suggest that they take the dogs and go – this instant. He wanted – Will let his mind wind down, blissfully quiet and sated as he lipped at Hannibal’s heartbeat beneath his pec.

          “I know, Will. No choice has been made.” There was something soft and sad in Hannibal’s voice. It sounded wrong. Will frowned into the pillow of Hannibal’s chest, he nuzzled into the bramble of chest hair, hoping that would convey all the things he was too tired to talk about right now.

          Just because this wasn’t the choice didn’t mean he wouldn’t cherish this moment, the feel of Hannibal’s warm skin on his, for the rest of his life. He’d miss it terribly when this ended in a cataclysm of blood and horror. Will flexed his hand, smiling at the pain that shot from his torn fingers.

          This was real. It had happened.

          Will hummed, letting the steady sound of Hannibal’s heartbeat lull him to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next Up:** Will wakes up completely free of inner turmoil...LOL JK, there's a monumental freak-out about to happen...


	8. Monday Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will wakes up and everyone is happy and in love...  
> LOL JK, Will throws a massive fit.

          The smell of a roast, and some sort of sweet sauce drew Will into Hannibal’s dinning room. There was something wrong with the doctor’s herb wall and Will squinted when he saw blood dripping from the plants.

          “Ah Will! Just in time, you may help me carve.” Hannibal breezed by Will in a red paisley suit with a black cravat, holding an enormous covered serving tray.

          Will looked down, a gleaming carving knife was in his hand. Hannibal cleared his throat before removing the lid from the tray with flare. There, on the tray was Jack Crawford’s torso and head, basted in some sort of sheening red sauce.

          “I recommend starting with the head,” Hannibal said with a smile. “He’s been quite chatty and is getting tiresome.”

          Jack’s head rolled toward Will. “You can’t do this. You know you can’t. You’re my man, Will, not his.”

          Hannibal sighed, folding elegantly into his seat at the head of the table. “I considered stuffing an apple in his mouth, but it would have ruined the flavor profile of the dish.”

          “WILL! This isn’t you. Use the knife, you know what to do!” Jack urged, his chest heaving as he screamed.

          “Will? Hurry up, I’m hungry.” Will froze at the sound of the soft little voice. Looking around the centerpiece, a towering tangle of antlers and pomegranate halves, to see Abigail seated to Hannibal’s right.

          “What are you doing here?” Will asked, his grip tightening on the knife.

          “Waiting for you, Will,” Abigail smiled, with her hair pulled back the gnarl of flesh where her ear should be was especially prominent.

          “I don’t-” But Will stopped himself, he did want to. He did.

          “Do the right thing, Will!”

          “Will, the roast is cooling…”

          “Come on Will,” Abigail tapped her ruined flesh. “I provided the protein last time.”

          Will felt the impulse to bring the knife down, but he fought it. “I…I don’t know what to do.”

          “You do.” The voice sounded strangely like his own.

          Will blinked and the knife was sinking into Jack’s abdomen, carving off thick slices of roast. Jack was screaming, but the sound emanating from his throat sounded like opera, something from Mefistofele. Will carefully sat each slice of Jack on a plate, wary of disturbing Hannibal’s beautiful side dish presentations. He served himself, last before settling at Hannibal’s left.

          They ate in silence for a few long minutes, Will feeling a warm glow as he basked in the presence of his family.

          When the pain came, it was sharp.

           Will felt as if something was tearing his hair from his head. He clawed at the spots near his crown, freezing when he felt two bumps protruding.

          “Hannibal? HANNIBAL!”

          Hannibal took his hand, but the fingers were all wrong, too long and clawed. Will looked to his right to find the Wendigo in Hannibal’s seat, dressed in a red paisley suit with a black cravat neatly knotted at his throat.

          “It will be over soon, Will,” The creature said in Hannibal’s voice, bringing Will’s trembling hand to his lips for a kiss.

          Will screamed as a rack of fresh antlers sprung from his scalp, velvet bloody and dripping.

          “Oh Will, they’re beautiful!” Abigail sighed. When Will gazed at her, blood was pouring from her missing ear and her throat.

          Long fingers stroked his horns, and Will turned to gaze at Hannibal. “This was all I ever wanted for us, for our family.”

          Will smiled, blood dripping into his eyes.

* * *

 

          Will woke to the sound of the shower running. Winston nosed his hand and whined plaintively to be let out. Shoving his hands through his hair, Will let out a small breath when he felt no tears on his scalp or antlers sprouting from his head. He rose and padded naked to the door, whistling to get the dogs' attention.

          The air was cold outside, and Will hid from it behind the door. They’d allowed the fire to die and now the scents of sex and burning wood had turned stale. He wanted to sink back into his bed, pull up the sheets that smelled of Hannibal, and fall back into the dream about his happy family.

          Will rubbed his hands over his face, pausing when he felt a sting. He looked at the bite wounds on his right hand, ran his lips over the caked blood and torn flesh. Will thought about the tears that flowed from Hannibal’s eyes as he bit down into Will’s fingers. He thought of the ripe smell of blood filling his nose as he came. He thought about joining Hannibal in the shower, pushing his fingers to his monster’s lips, and begging for those crooked teeth to reopen his wounds.

          Clenching his hand into a fist, Will let the sharp pain interrupt his fantasy. He needed to change the sheets, open the windows, clear the scent of sex from the air and from his head. He had ruined a lot of things last night, things that even Jack Crawford and his indominable blindness to problems that impeded investigations would surely notice. Will had spent the weekend shacked up with a cannibal. He’d played cute little domestic games with him at every opportunity. He’d deleted evidence that could have lead to a conviction or at least a few warrants. He’d fucked a man he knew to have killed an FBI investigator, a material witness, and scores of others.

          He’d thought about fleeing with this killer at least once an hour since Hannibal had found him at Walmart. Maybe longer, maybe he’d always wanted to flee.

          The water stopped and Will felt himself stiffen. He should run. He should get in a car, load up the dogs and take off down the road. He’d only stop for gas and food until he was sure Hannibal wasn’t hot on his heels. Only, he wasn’t certain there was a distance he could go that would finally outpace Hannibal Lecter. And if he ever reached it? What would Will do but turn back and wait for Hannibal to pick up his scent again?

          Steam filtered from the bathroom door as it opened, Hannibal paused to silhouette himself in the hazy light. Naked, with his hair falling in wet tendrils over his eyes, and one forearm resting against the doorjamb Hannibal looked like a Lysippos made flesh. His skin was marked with purple mouths, wounds that littered his shoulders and chest, a patch of bloody skin was still visible along Hannibal’s neck. Will could only stare at the marks and plan where his next set should go. His fingers began to throb.

          Will’s breathing stopped as he caught Hannibal’s smile, the doctor walking over to his own shivering, naked form and wrapping warm arms around Will’s cool body. “Good morning.”

          This was not the monster of last night, nor was it the perfectly impassive creature that charmed its way through life. Hair half wild, unadorned but for Will’s teeth marks and utterly at ease as he bit into the soft join at Will’s neck, this was something Will had only dreamed of seeing. This was Hannibal Lecter without a mask.

          “Morning,” Will mumbled, trying not to lean back into Hannibal’s teeth. “You’re in a good mood.”

          Hannibal hummed, biting a few more places along Will’s shoulder until the empath was shivering uncontrollably. “I did have a lovely meal last night.”

          This wild creature with the teeth of a monster and the mind of a man was too dangerous to let this close. Will forced himself away, standing cold and naked in the middle of his living room, regretting ever leaving the heat of Hannibal’s embrace.

          “You think I’ve chosen you.” Will hissed.

          “I know you have.” Though Hannibal’s voice remained calm and confident, Will watched the tiny shift in the doctor’s posture. His shoulders straightened, his spine lengthened, his face began to solidify back into his mask; running a hand through his hair slicked the wet strands back and suddenly Dr. Hannibal Lecter was standing before him. Will thrilled that he was able to strike a blow that landed, but missed the bedraggled creature that had emerged from his bathroom.

          “I haven’t chosen y-”

          “You chose when you allowed me to find your car, parked under the only working light in the Walmart parking lot. You chose when you allowed me to follow you home and sleep at your feet. You chose when you deleted every single detailed confession I offered you. You chose when you called Jack Crawford only to hang up and follow me to lunch.” Hannibal’s head tilted just a fraction and Will felt the full weight of his own nakedness settle on his chest. “You chose when you asked me to bite your fingers.”

           Will shook his head, he thought of Abigail, rotting somewhere because he’d yet to find her. He thought of Beverly Katz in fine little slices for all to see. He thought of Alana, sleeping in the bed of a man who would slaughter her without a second thought. “I can’t.”

          “You have.”

          “I’m-I’m not you. I’m not that person.” Will backed up, but Hannibal made no move to follow.

          “No one ever is, are they Will?” Hannibal rolled his shoulders back, striding to the door to whistle for the dogs. All streamed in but Winston, who lay sullen on the porch. Hannibal sighed and closed the door. “Not Abigail. Certainly not you. I seem to be the only monster you see.”

          “You’re not a monster, Dr. Lecter.” Will used Hannibal’s formal title just to watch the doctor’s eye twitch.

          “No, I’m a mirror, aren’t I?” Hannibal fell into his therapist voice. So serene, so calm, it would be easy to miss the tension in his fingers and think Hannibal had full control of himself and the situation. “You could forgive me for being a monster, but not for showing you what you don’t want to see.”

          “I see what I need to.” Beverly. Abigail. Miriam. Alana. If he just kept repeating the names in his head maybe he’d remember why he was doing this. Why he couldn’t do this.

          “Yes, you do.” Hannibal’s mouth curled, just a fraction. It was the smile that made Will feel as though the doctor was peering directly into his brain. “But you never do what needs to be done, do you, Will?”

          Will snarled and rushed to his phone. He grabbed it with a flourish, before turning his back to dial. He didn’t want to see it coming. He’d lose his nerve if he was confronted with Hannibal’s full beauty as the doctor ended him. Will hoped he’d be killed slowly. He wondered what parts Hannibal would honor and who would appreciate his tableau once Will was gone.

          Jack picked up on the third ring, a woman’s coughing in the background again. “What?”

          Will turned, wondering if Hannibal had fled. When he rounded, he found Hannibal standing inches behind him, an odd smile not quite reaching his mouth. Will reached up to touch Hannibal’s cheeks.

          “WILL!”

          Will’s hand froze, Hannibal did not lower his head the scant millimeters into his fingers, just raised an eyebrow. Will flexed his fingers, letting the pain surging through his hand fuel his anger at himself and at Hannibal. “Lecter’s here. He’s confessed. Hurry.”

          Hannibal’s head lowered a fraction, his mouth turning down.

          “What? Will? Are you safe? WILL! WHERE IS LECTER N-” Will hung up the phone and tossed it on the nightstand. He lifted his chin to meet Hannibal’s gaze. He’d be defiant to the end, at the very least.

          Hannibal lifted his hands to Will’s head. Will remembered the sound of Mason Verger’s neck snapping as it echoed through his living room. Would he make the same noise?

          “You’re really quite a mess in the morning,” Hannibal said, his fingers lacing through Will’s hair in a caress. “I’m grateful you gave me a chance to see that.”

          Realization hit Will in his gut, he felt like he was being torn open. Hannibal wasn’t going to kill him. He wasn’t going to run either. He was going to do something much, much worse. Hannibal Lecter was going to prove he was capable of love.

          Will shook his head, batting at the hand in his hair. “You have to go.”

          Hannibal smiled, toothy and fond. “Do I?”

          “Hannibal, he’ll be here in 30 minutes, 20 if he called the response team.” Will looked down, he was holding Hannibal’s hand with his damaged fingers.

          “Then we have time.” Hannibal’s grip tightened on Will’s hand. Will felt himself being pulled onto the bed and let himself fall. Hannibal gathered Will to his chest and pressed a kiss behind his ear.

           Will struggled in Hannibal’s hold briefly, pressing at Hannibal’s chest. Hannibal let himself be pushed, toying with the unruly ends of Will’s curls. “Promise me you’ll stop using that awful two-in-one shampoo. It’s ruining your curl structure.”

          “Curl stru-WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?” Will yanked himself free of Hannibal’s grip. He toppled to the ground, the dogs nosing him curiously. Will flailed trying to right himself before he spotted it: His old overnight duffle, stored neatly beneath his bed. He grabbed it and began stuffing Hannibal’s things into it.

          Hannibal sank back onto Will’s mattress, looking like a Caravaggio in the half-light of dawn. “If I leave now, you won’t have made a choice.”

          “What are you talking about?” Will didn’t even look up, searching the floor for Hannibal’s loafers and hoping Buster hadn’t decided to eat them. He tossed Hannibal’s suit pants and his boots toward the bed. When Hannibal made no move for them, Will dropped the bag and rushed to the man sprawled on sheets that still smelled of blood and sex. “There’s a truck in the barn, the keys are under the visor. It belongs to my neighbor down the road. Take that, they won’t have the plates for it. It’ll buy you some ti-”

          Hannibal’s warm fingers wrapped along Will’s face. He could feel the immense strength in those hands. How easy it would be for Hannibal to finally end this with a quick snap. Will looked up, Hannibal’s eyes shimmered. “If I run, I’ve allowed you to avoid your choice again.”

          Will closed his eyes, he could feel his chest shuddering as he tried to draw breath. “Please.”

          “Poor Will Graham,” Hannibal’s thumbs caressed his cheeks. “Such an honest man, always doing what’s expected, what’s right.”

          “That’s not what I-”

          “You never quite make the right call, do you, Will?” Will could hear the fond smile in Hannibal’s voice as he screwed his eyes tightly shut. “You prefer the easy call. Tell the hunters where the game is, but beat the brush to ensure it flees.”

          Will pressed his bitten hand to Hannibal’s, linking their fingers together. “Hannibal, you have to leave.”

          “You can’t live with yourself if I’m free, can you?” Will heard a sob, and knew it was coming from him. He felt so far away from the sound, so far away from where he hoped he’d be at the end of this weekend. He sobbed again. This was worse than transformation at Hannibal’s hands. “But you can’t live with yourself if you’ve caught me either. You’d be content to chase me forever, wouldn’t you?”

          “Please, please go.” Will felt a huff of breath over his lips seconds before Hannibal’s mouth descended on his. No teeth this time, just soft lips and suction – an entreaty. Will made a soft noise, crawling forward until he was straddling Hannibal. He allowed himself to be kissed, allowed Hannibal’s hands to run warm and comforting over his back and shoulders.

          Hannibal licked a tear from the corner of Will’s mouth. Will released a wet sob, panic still coursing through him as he looked into Hannibal’s smiling face. When had Hannibal started crying? “I don’t require a sacrifice, but I’m afraid you do, don’t you, my precious boy?”

          “No, I- I don’t want this.”

          “You must, you called Jack.”

          “No, I- that was just-” Will waved his hands, frantic energy frizzling in his chest. This wasn’t how it ended. It was supposed to end in blood. Beautiful gore that would free him from all of this, that would free Hannibal from him. He grabbed at Hannibal’s arms, sinking his fingers into the muscle. He ignored the pain as he started yanking at Hannibal’s body. “Get up! Get up! Ge-”        

          “Shhhh, shhhhh,” Hannibal tried to enfold him again, but the panic roaring in Will’s chest wouldn’t allow him to be stilled. “Don’t fight so. You’ve made your choice.”

          “Run,” Will slapped a fist onto Hannibal’s chest. “You were supposed to run.”

          “Where would we go without you?”

          Will froze. His mind began spinning. He saw a flash of wide blue doe eyes in his mind. “We?”

          Hannibal’s smile grew, the swell of his cheekbones shifted the track of a tear. “I had hoped to show you Florence.”

          “Go.” Will brushed the tears from Hannibal’s cheeks, letting his fingers wrap around the back of Hannibal’s neck. “Go, I’ll meet you.”

          “You won’t,” Hannibal let his lips trace along Will’s chin. He was inhaling deeply – _memorizing my scent_ , Will realized. “I leave here with you, or Jack.”

          _Let’s go_.

          The words were right there, battering about Will’s chest like a wounded bird, but he just…couldn’t. “No, please. I-I can’t. I can’t…”

          Will sobbed, his head falling onto Hannibal’s purpled shoulder. The doctor’s hand traced along Will’s stomach. It felt like he was drawing a smile onto Will’s body. The man beneath him sighed, kissing the soft spot just below Will’s ear. “Then perhaps you’ll come visit me, when you can.”

          Pulling back, Will searched Hannibal’s face, trying to find the words. He should vow that he’d never visit Hannibal. That he wouldn’t care what he did or where he was – anything to get his monster to snap, to rage, to run.

          Hannibal traced a finger along Will’s temple. “You’ll know where to find me.”

          Hannibal shifted, dislodging Will and standing. He stretched casually, still so utterly comfortable with his nudity. Bending down to grab the bag Will had left by the bed, Hannibal looked up to smile at Will again.

          “I believe that’s uncle Jack’s car I hear in the distance? If you don’t mind stalling him a few moments, I would prefer my official booking photo…” Hannibal gestured to his naked, bruised body. “Be a bit more presentable.”

          Hannibal picked up the bag and walked into the bathroom as if the might of the FBI wasn’t bearing down on the house.

* * *

 

          Will had known, in his bones, that Jack would come alone. For some reason this knowledge warmed him, some little spark that felt like hope igniting in Will’s gut. Will had managed to pull on sleep pants and an old t-shirt before Jack trudged up the steps. He tried to look calm, though Will felt like he was being electrocuted.

          “Jack! H-how’s Bella?”

          Jack looked at Will, face crumpled in annoyance. “At home, where I should be. Where is he?”

          “It’s OK, he’s inside.” Jack moved to sidestep Will, but the empath followed. He couldn’t seem to get out of his own, or Jack’s way. “He’s with the dogs.”

          “And what, they’re covering him?” Jack clapped a hand on Will’s shoulder and pushed him aside. Something bright and painful was flaring in Will’s chest. He grabbed at Jack again.

          “Why did you come alone?” Will looked around him. If there weren’t any teams following, he could subdue Jack and Hannibal would be gone before…before what?

          Jack looked at him, jaw set. “Prurnell. Alana...she made a complaint and Prurnell did some digging into our plan. She took my-”

Jack made a vague motion, dismissing the sentence before he finished it. “If I called for a team, tell them we’ve cornered Lecter-”

          “They’d pick you up instead, wouldn’t they?” Will felt his vision going white. Fucking Alana, she could never trust Will to have things handled. Sure, at this moment handled was the furthest thing from Will’s position, but it was the principle of the thing. He’d told her he would end this. He still thought he could.

          “We make this arrest, we bring him in, no one will care about Prurnell and her fucking compassionate leave,” Jack had the same steadfast tone he always did. Will wondered if he even knew he was lying to himself.

          Steely-eyed and determined, Jack marched to the door, drawing his gun before entering – the perfect G-man from a movie. Will felt his gut drop at the sight of the gun, he rushed in after Jack.

          Raising an eyebrow at Will, Jack swept the living room before pausing. Will pointed at the bathroom. Jack leveled his gun at the door and Will’s head began to throb.

          “STOP!”

          Jack flinched and Will held his hands up, they were shaking. When had they started shaking. Moving between the gun and the bathroom door, Will could see worry flick over Jack’s face. Maybe he thought Will was having another episode, maybe he thought that Will had finally flipped his shit entirely – it didn’t matter, as long as Jack didn’t shoot.

          “He’s unarmed, Jack.”

          “I don’t give a shit, Will.” Jack sneered. “MOVE.”

          The door opened, but Will didn’t dare turn. He kept his focus on Jack and muzzle of his gun.

          “Ah, Jack! So nice of you to personally take me in, I’m honored.” The Dr. Lecter voice was back, its calmness grated against Will’s skin. “Should I get on my knees? Hands behind my head?”

          Jack shifted around Will, but the gun dropped just a bit. “Glad you know the drill, Dr. Lecter.”

          Will chanced a glance at Hannibal – he was nearly immaculate. Freshly shaved and every hair slicked into place, Hannibal Lecter was back to the charming monster that easily slid through Baltimore society. He wore his suit pants and the rumpled shirt that still probably held the imprints of Will’s teeth. The waistcoat and tie helped hide the wrinkles of the shirt, but Will could see every one; knew he put them there while writhing on a bed when he could have had Hannibal in his hands instead of linen.

          Hannibal lowered himself to his knees, hands raising to his head. He never took his eyes from Will as he moved. Will’s eyes swam at the elegant surrender.

          “Will? My jacket is in the kitchen. If you’d be so kind, I’d appreciate that it is taken to – where are we going, Jack?”

          Jack grabbed Hannibal’s wrist securing a cuff around it with a sickening _clack_. Will couldn’t remember when Jack had gotten so close, he felt like his head was on fire. Hannibal could have taken Jack, twisted his arm and driven the free cuff into his neck.

          But he didn’t.

          Hannibal merely waited patiently for Jack to grab his other wrist and secure it behind himself. Will couldn’t watch. Couldn’t wait for another _clack_ to signal the end of this, of everything. He fled to the kitchen.

          The jacket was folded over a chair. Will wondered distantly when Hannibal had placed it there. He didn’t grab it. He wandered further into the kitchen, his fingers running idly over the pairing knife in the drying rack.

          When he wandered back into the living room, tears were flowing freely down his face. Jack looked at him, taking in the tears and the shuddering breath. He turned his back, sighing. Will could feel the disappointment leaching off Jack in waves. The disgust at Will’s weakness, the unease with his mental stability. Jack was probably thinking up ways to keep Will from testifying in court as he glared down at Hannibal.

          “Will?” Jack’s voice boomed, the commanding boss tone that had forced Will into so many terrible cases and scenes. It didn’t sound as loud now. “We’ll get you another shrink. It’s alright. It’s over now.”

          “It is.” Will waited for Jack to lower the gun before he lunged. He grabbed Jack’s forehead, wrenching his head backwards and sinking the paring knife deeply into his neck.

          Everything froze.

          For a moment, Will and Jack stood in a terrible embrace, Jack’s body stiff and Will’s coursing with adrenaline. Jack’s mouth had fallen open, a perfect little _O_ of surprise. Will almost felt sorry for him. Only someone as obtuse as Jack Crawford would dare to be surprised at this ending. Will could feel blood pulsing under his fingers, pooling around the knife wound, eager to gush free.

          So, he freed it.

          Cutting through the muscle and fat of Jack’s neck wasn’t as smooth as Will had always imagined it would be. He had to yank the blade inelegantly several times to get Jack’s throat to open properly. Hannibal would probably have something bemusing to say about the sharpness of Will’s knives. Jack jerked in his arms, hands clawing at Will’s forearms and legs failing him. Will kept the knife as he released Jack.

          Free of the weight of Jack’s body, Will felt almost obscenely light. His skin pin pricked with energy, his hands shook. He felt euphoric as he watched his wrath spray around the room and over Hannibal. He breathed deep, taking in the scent of blood and fear. He watched Hannibal’s chest rise and fall, taking in the same air enthusiastically.

          Jack fell to his knees in front of Hannibal, spouting gouts of arterial blood over the doctor’s grinning face. One hand tried in vain to close the gaping wound at his throat, the other, still holding his gun, reached for Hannibal. Will didn’t know whether he was trying to shoot Hannibal or ask him for help. The hand that held the gun twitched, the fingers releasing the weapon. It fell with a dull _thunk_ into a growing pool of blood.

          Hannibal stared into Jack’s eyes as the bigger man slumped to the floor. He did not break eye contact until the fine tremors in Jack’s fingers stilled and his skin began to grey. When Hannibal finally looked up, his body bathed in blood, he was triumphant.

          “My my, Will, what have you done?” Hannibal asked, blood dripped from his lips and onto his teeth as he smiled up at the trembling man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next Up:** So...Will made a choice. But every choice has consequences, both good and bad. Will he be happy with the choice he made?


	9. Monday Afternoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A loss and a gain, but has Will achieved balance?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First: I'm so SO sorry that I haven't responded to anyone this week. I've been trying to write a new multi-chapter that posts on Halloween...and well, that and a website launch at work has conspired to make me rather pathetic about comments this week. Please forgive me I will respond I promise! 
> 
> Second: Gwilbers held my hand through this whole fic and kept you all from reading some truly horrifying errors - so really, we should all thank her. 
> 
> Last: If you're reading this, thank you. If you've been kind enough to kudos, bookmark, or comment, please know I couldn't be more grateful. Thank you all.

          Jack Crawford was much less intimidating as a corpse. His skin grey, his indomitable strength gone, he lay on Will’s floor, nothing more than a lump of flesh. Will thought once of Bella, of how hard this news would be for her. He could feel the grief and sorrow that would rattle her bones. He could feel the little voice in the back of his head, the one that always sounded a bit like Jack, telling him what an awful thing he’d done, screeching at him to stop before it was too late.

          But it was too late.

          Hannibal had wanted a choice, and Will had made it. And when he took the time to really look at what he’d done, at the man laid low on his floor, he felt…happy. There was no going back from what he'd done, and that knowledge was oddly liberating as Will felt the adrenaline leach from his body. He would always be able to empathize, to see just how badly a death would affect those around him, but this was the first time he didn’t let that empathy govern his own feelings.

          Will felt light, free, like a beast released from a cage viciously snapping his teeth to make sure they still worked. When he looked at Hannibal, Will knew the doctor felt it too. Hannibal was still staring at him, eye gleaming and skin dyed red – a blood covered supplicant kneeling before a vengeful god.

          “My my, Will, what have you done?”

          Glee. That’s what Will heard dancing in Hannibal’s words.

          The dogs nosed around Jack. Buster trod through the blood leaving little gory paw-prints around the room. Harley sniffed at Jack’s mouth, as if checking for breath before moving to lap at Jack’s ear. Will heard a whine and knew Winston was still on the porch, his claws tapped uneasily in the doorway as he paced.

          Will nudged Jack, his body shifted limply under Will’s foot before settling back onto the bloody floorboards. He _tsked_ loudly, driving the dogs from the body. Will dropped down to the pile of flesh and bones, rooting in Jack’s pockets until he found the keys for the handcuffs. Hannibal watched him the whole time, chest swelled with pride, eyes so joyous Will almost didn’t see the smug set of his mouth.

          Almost.

          There wasn’t a chance in hell that Hannibal couldn’t get out of those cuffs if he really wanted to. And Will thought for a long moment about making the cocky bastard dislocate his thumb and do it. But the fine tremors running through Hannibal’s shoulders convinced him otherwise. Will took a moment to look at Hannibal, the doctor vibrating with glee, with pure burning exhilaration and love. - the person suit laying on the ground with Jack, another discarded bit of an old life.

          Will kneeled behind Hannibal, slotting the key into the handcuffs but not turning the lock just yet. He leaned into Hannibal’s back, pressing his lips to the shell of the doctor’s ear. “You knew. You knew I would fucking do this.”

          “I didn’t know.” Hannibal’s voice was a sandpaper rough. He sounded as if he were about to cry. This close, Will could feel the emotions coursing through Hannibal, muscles twitching under his blood covered waistcoat. “I never know with you.”

          _Click_.

          “You knew.” The moment he was free, Hannibal twisted, snatching Will into his arms. His face was slick with blood when it pressed into Will’s neck. He could hear the huffing again, the sound of Hannibal inhaling him, drawing Will into his body and savoring the scent.

          “I hoped.” Such a fragile sentence from such a terrifying man. Will gathered Hannibal’s face in his hands and kissed him. Hannibal melted into the embrace, the handcuffs still linked to his left wrist clinked as he wrapped his arms around Will.

          The kisses turned frantic, the taste of Jack’s blood on Hannibal’s lips made something turn electric in Will’s spine. He surged forward, licking at the smears on Hannibal’s face and nipping at his jawline. They fell together, landing in a pool of blood and ignoring the dead man beside them as they devoured each other.

          Strong hands clawed at Will’s t-shirt, he could feel Hannibal panting into his kisses. He could also hear the dogs scratching around and nosing at Jack. They needed to move, there would be time for this, time for everything.

          Will pulled back, but Hannibal’s fingers would not detangle from his clothes.

          “You’ll stay with me?”

          “Where else would I go?” Will ran his fingers over Hannibal’s blood-smeared face and wondered if he understood how beautiful he was.

          Hannibal smiled, that wide grin that bared his fangs. “What do we do now?”

          “Now?” Will stretched, getting to his feet before offering Hannibal a hand. “We feed the dogs, leave a note for the FBI.”

          “A note?”

          Will raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’ve run out of display ideas.”

* * *

 

          In the end, the classics won out. Hannibal had suggested Hector as inspiration, but Will vetoed the idea. Jack wasn’t a warrior now, he was a foolish old ruler who lost everything before being slaughtered.

          “Priam,” Will said hand running over Jack’s slack features. “A great king who thought he could protect all within his walls.”

          “A great fool not to acknowledge the threat before him.”

          “Brave men are often foolish.” Will took Jack’s car keys. “Take his heart.”

          “A brave heart is a folly to most.” Hannibal paused, head cocked. “It was bravery that brought him his end.”

          Will nodded. “It was bravery that I admired in him.” 

          Leaving Hannibal to make the necessary cuts, Will strode to Jack’s car. The dogs streamed out behind him, snuffling the ground with blood caked paws and muzzles. Winston stayed still on the porch, watching.

          In Jack’s trunk, Will found what he was looking for – case files. Thousands of sheets of paper, none of them quite summing up the devastating beauty that was the Chesapeake Ripper. Will considered the next head of the unit, and whether they would take this display as a respectful honoring or a bloody warning. It was both.

          As Hannibal carved the body, Will worked on their bed. He didn’t bother changing the sheets, Jimmy would find them and see the story splashed upon them anyway. Better they were frank with their display. Will made the bed and began spreading crime scene photos and reports over the mattress. He tacked his favorites of Hannibal’s displays on the wall over the bed and littered the floor around him with autopsy notes and post mortem write ups.

          When he was done, Will went to the closet and retrieved the candles he saved for blackouts. Thick and white, they would burn for hours undisturbed. Long enough that Jimmy and Zeller would be able to photograph them and put them in the reports.

          “Well?” Will turned to look at Hannibal, elbow deep in Jack’s chest cavity.

          “Considering our limited resources and time, I’d say that is an excellent altar for our Priam.”

          Will narrowed his eyes. “You’re saying it needs improvement.”

          Hannibal held up Jack’s heart. “I’m saying I’ll need some saran wrap and a cooler if we’re expected to take this with us.”

          Will smiled and walked to the kitchen.

* * *

 

It took both Hannibal and Will to lift Jack and position him properly on the altar.

          “Sprawled among his cases, an altar to his pride and folly,” Hannibal tilted his head, lips pursing. “But Priam was speared by Neoptolemus in vengeance. We have no spear.”

          Will chewed his lip, the metallic tang of blood lingered on the skin. He walked to his fishing tackle and selected a rod. He offered it to Hannibal. “Will this do?”

          Hannibal smiled, taking the pole. “You were the better fisherman after all.”

          With a smooth motion he buried the rod and reel into Jack’s open chest, securing it between two ribs.

          Will stepped back to look at the tableau. He found little things in his mind to improve: Body position, wound pattern, aesthetical subtly. It wasn’t quite a Ripper crime scene, but maybe that was the point? The air changed, it felt electric and smelled of fresh blood. Will leaned back into Hannibal without looking.

          “I’m not sure I’m ready to eat his heart.” Will wasn’t sure what held him back, but it felt silly to ask Hannibal to cook it _in case_ he decided he could palate human flesh. He didn’t mind the idea of a stranger, but something about sinking his teeth into the flesh of Jack Crawford put him off.

          “I can dispose of it.” Hannibal placed a hand on Will’s shoulder, thumb digging into the bruises beneath his t-shirt.

          “No.” Will craned his neck to look at Hannibal. “I want to keep it.”

          “Preserved in a jar on the mantle? Or dried for the dogs to chew on?”

          Will huffed a laugh. “I’m not sure.”

          “I’m not sure we’ll live long enough for you to make another decision.”

          Will elbowed Hannibal lightly and snarled. “We need to clean up, Dr. Lecter.”

          Hannibal smiled sweeping his arm toward Will’s bathroom. “I believe your shower is big enough for two.”

* * *

 

          The shower had taken longer than was strictly necessary to get clean, but Will couldn’t find it in himself to mind. He pressed at the fresh set of teeth marks in his neck and smiled. Hannibal had three matching marks on the back of his left shoulder and Will shivered when he remembered the taste of Hannibal’s flesh in his teeth. As he watched Hannibal towel his hair and search Will’s drawers for clothing that would fit, Will noticed his phone blinking on the dresser.

          Two missed calls from Alana.

          Will frowned, something cold and dreadful fluttering in his chest. If the FBI was on its way and he and Hannibal were caught because of shower sex…well, Will hoped his cell wouldn’t be too close to Hannibal’s because he’d never hear the end of it.

          “Alana called me. Twice.”

          Hannibal raised a brow as he tried to get the buttons on a worn flannel to close over his chest. He hummed.

          “That’s it, just a hum?”

          Hannibal shrugged out of the shirt and began folding it neatly before turning back to Will’s drawers. “She probably wants to warn you about me. She thought she was being so clever when she saw me the other day.”

          “Well, what kind of idiot would sleep with you?”

          Hannibal smiled, holding up a worn Wolf Trap Animal Rescue shirt. “What kind indeed?”

          Will rolled his eyes, hitting dial on the phone. “Put some fucking clothes on.”

          Alana picked up on the fourth ring. “Hello? Will? I thought I was too late.”

          “I was out with the dogs.” Hannibal huffed at that, snarling slightly as he held another shirt up to his frame. “What’s going on?”

          “It’s Prurnell. I tried to, I thought I was helping but she,” Will could hear the tears and felt a stab of guilt. Poor Alana always tried to do the right thing. “There’s a warrant for-”

          “Jack?”

          “No. You and Jack. They’re coming and I- I don’t know, I didn’t mean.”

          “Alana?” Will kept his voice soft. “Will you check on the dogs for me? Feed them if I’m, uh, not home.”

          She sniffled into the phone. “Of course. Applesauce would love some company tonight.”

          “Thank you, Alana. You’ve always been a good friend.” Will felt himself smiling. “Goodbye.”

          Will hung up and tossed the phone on the ground. He wouldn’t need it anymore. Hannibal sneered at that, his face emerging from the opening in a worn navy Henley Will didn’t remember buying. “A good friend?”

          “I’m banging her boyfriend, I guess I can afford to be charitable.” Will grabbed his duffle bag and began loading it with a few changes of clothes. Hannibal shimmied into a pair of old jeans and Will paused to watch as he struggled to button them. He bit his lip and turned away into the kitchen.

          He found the clay catfish on the floor, a new chip in its paint, but still fairly solid. He picked it up and smiled before searching the floor for Hannibal’s lure. When he retrieved both, he slipped them into his duffle and zipped it up.

          “Feeling sentimental?” Hannibal leaned against the doorframe, smiling that wide smile that wouldn’t have fit his person suit. His clothes were just tight enough that Will could think of nothing but peeling them off.

          “Analyze me later. The FBI is on its way.”

          Hannibal looked over his shoulder at Jack, hollowed out and motionless on the bed. “Don’t worry yourself so much. We did well with the first wave.”

          Will shouldered his duffle. “We should take the truck. They won’t have the plates and-”

          “And you think it would be funny to see me in it.”

          Will shrugged, frowning as he pictured Hannibal in the old Ford, bumping along the roads, mouth tightening with every divot. “It’d be funnier if I just loaded you into the bed, threw some leaves over you.”

          Hannibal hummed and walked by Will. “Are we leaving the dogs in here with Jack?”

          Will paused, looking over the pack. Some would be tempted to nibble at the corpse on the bed, but Will’s real fear was the FBI shooting them to get them away from the body. “Let’s corral them in the kitchen, leave the back door open.”

          Hannibal nodded. The doctor filled bowls with food as Will ushered the dogs into the small kitchen and closed the door behind him. He took a moment to nuzzle each dog, scratching ears and ruffling fur. He whispered to each one, asking them to be good, and to remember to be friendly when they found their new homes. Hannibal quietly set bowls on the floor, Will loved him for not mentioning the tears in his eyes, but squeezing his hand tightly as they left.

          Hannibal went to the barn to retrieve the truck. Will took one last look at the house, his beacon of safety in a sea of darkness. He smiled when he heard the truck, not quite a beacon of light, but a beacon for him nonetheless. He stepped away from the house, walking to the truck and heaving his bag into the open side window of the camper hood.

          He paused to laugh. Hannibal had grabbed Will’s fishing cap and had pulled it low over his eyes. Sitting in the driver’s side of the avocado green camper special, he looked like a hunter on his way to a kill. Cocking his head, Will smiled. He supposed that wasn’t too far from the truth.

          When he opened the cab, Will heard the whine. Buster and Winston padded out from the back to the house, watching Will. Winston whined again, shifting his weight on his paws as he watched his master.

          Will turned to Hannibal, who looked rather resigned as he let the engine idle. “Hurry and call them.”

          Will whistled, he could feel his mouth stretching into a grin. Buster bounded toward him. His little legs making his gait look like great leaps as he closed the gap between them. Will, pulled his seat down and helped Buster into the cramped back bench before turning to grab Winston.

          But Winston was still by the house. The dog whined again, tapping his paws and turning back to look at the house.

          “Winston! Come on, buddy!” Will watched as the dog took two steps toward him before retreating back to the safety of the house. The dog whined again, lowering his chest to the ground. Will could feel his eyes prickling. “Come on, we’ve got to go.”

          Winston made another plaintive noise, stepping forward and back on hesitating paws. Will held a hand out and the dog lurched forward before stopping himself again.

          “Please,” Will whispered, crouching down and making himself look unassuming. He thought of the day Hannibal brought Mason to visit, of the brindled dog who sat watching for Will instead of feasting with the others. Will’s gut churned. He’d gone into the house to feed now, and that left Winston all alone again.

          The sound of a door shutting broke Will’s reverie. He looked up to see Hannibal slowly walking toward Winston, hands extended in supplication. Will stood, grabbing Hannibal’s arm.

          “Don’t.” He could feel the tears catching in his stubble as he tries to speak.

          “Will we can-”

          “No, leave him,” Will drew a shuddering breath, looking back at the whining dog. “Alana will pick him to keep. He’ll be happy with her.”

          Hannibal’s thumbs brushed across Will’s cheeks. Will let his eyes fall closed. “He can adjust.”

          Will shook his head. He thought of Winston shoving at his leg to move Will away from Hannibal. He thought of the dog’s reluctance to follow Hannibal in or out of the house. He thought of the dog that wouldn’t investigate the scent of fresh blood when Jack Crawford collapsed onto the floor. He let himself sob a few times, Hannibal’s hands stroking the tears away.

          “I don’t want him to run away from me.” Will could see it now, Winston would wait for his chance and take off. He’d be running down the road with a broken piece of rope looped around his neck, ducking cars and caked with mud. Who would stop for him this time? Will heaved a loud breath. “Please, let’s just go.”

          Hannibal tightened his grip for a moment, and Will could feel the press of lips to his cheek. He followed Hannibal back to the car and tried not to listen to the whining at his back, begging for him to return to the safety of their little ship in the dark water.

          Will looked back at the truck. Buster wagged his tail spinning on the back seat. He thought about unloading him too, starting fresh, but the idea of abandoning the little demon left a sour taste in his mouth. Shoving his seat upright, Will jumped into the cab by Hannibal. He slammed the door to the truck and buried his head in his hands. He couldn’t watch as Hannibal drove away. 

* * *

 

          They drove in silence around the perimeter of Wolf Trap park, the only noises the sound of the truck’s ancient engine and whatever the hell Buster was doing on the back seat. If Will had to guess, the terrier had found some prehistoric food wrapper or receipt to blithely shred as the miles rolled by. Will reached behind his seat to offer the dog a scratch when a long line of black cars appeared.

          Sleek black SUVs and vans rolled by the truck, no lights, but the government tags and puck antennas were a dead giveaway. They flew by the truck, on their way to the last Chesapeake Ripper killing that would happen in Virginia. Hannibal lifted his hand at the driver of the last van, nodding. The driver mirrored the gesture and Will wanted to smack the smug prick for needing to showboat.

          “You know they’ve pulled our passports by now, called the airports.”

          “They pulled mine last week, I imagine,” Hannibal said, fingers flexing on the wheel. “We couldn’t leave via air tonight anyway, with dogs in tow.”

          “Dog.” Will let Buster eagerly lap at his hands. He pictured Winston sitting on the porch, hesitatingly wagging his tail as a response team stormed past him and into the house.

           “I’m sorry, Will.”

          Will snorted, wiggling his fingers as he played with Buster. “You framed me for murder and killed my friends, but scaring the dog is what you’re sorry about.”

          Hannibal stretched his neck, his grip on the wheel tightened just a little bit. Will watched, marveling at what insecurity looked like on the doctor. There was something deeply appealing about knowing where to press to hurt Hannibal, but Will’s stomach roiled when he thought about the long-term damage he could inflict. He probably shouldn’t smack Hannibal whenever he tried to display empathy. It was a decent trait to have in a monster.

          “You wanted me to choose, I chose.” Will’s voice sounded gruff. Hannibal didn’t respond, jaw locked and eyes fixed ahead.

          Disentangling from Buster’s wiggling head, Will rested his hand beside himself on the bench seat. Hannibal kept his focus ahead, but the line of tension in the man’s body made Will wonder if he was going to crack a tooth. He needed them both to unclench. They weren’t going to make it to Maryland, let alone whatever elaborate escape Hannibal had planned if they didn’t trust each other. Hannibal needed to know Will wasn’t going to leave. And while the idea of fleeing and hiding from the world and Hannibal Lecter was appealing, Will had already decided that neither of them were getting out of this alone or alive.

          He drummed his fingers on the old vinyl seat for a moment before sliding his hand a few inches toward Hannibal’s thigh. The movement made a familiar _shush_ noise. Will smiled and did it again, watching Hannibal’s face. By the third little shushing movement, Will had his hand pressed against Hannibal’s thigh.

          The doctor never took his eyes from the road, but the corner of his mouth curved up into a small smile. Will felt warm all over, as if something tightening in his chest had just snapped free. He breathed deep, smelling cheap soap, dog, and Hannibal. It was a good mixture, one he’d like to keep breathing as long as he could.

          Hannibal dropped one hand from the steering wheel to entwine with Will’s. He grimaced slightly as his fingers slid over Will’s palm, still coated in Buster’s spittle. 

          “You’re going to have to get used to that,” Will said, squeezing tightly.

          “I suppose that’s fair,” Hannibal’s grip was sure. “I’ve asked more from you.”

          “What’s a little murder here and there?” Will’s heart was beating fast, his head spinning. That drugged feeling was back, but it didn’t seem as terrifying as it had before.

          Hannibal pulled his hand away to dig into his jean pocket. “May I ask one more thing of you?”

          “What?”

          “Speed dial number four.” Hannibal handed Will his phone. “Tell her to have the bags for contingency two ready.”

          The phone fell from Will’s hand. He could distantly hear it thudding on the floor, but when he turned to look for it, his vision was blurry. He heaved a shuddering breath and looked at Hannibal. The doctor’s body posture had stiffened. He was waiting for Will’s response.

          “How?” Will’s voice sounded high and tight in the back of his mind. He could hear Buster clawing at the seat, picking up on his change in mood.

          “You must of known.”

          “I couldn’t let myself…Y-you said…Iphigenia…”

          Will choked on nothing, his breath shuddering as his body washed warm and cold. He felt dizzy.

          “There are several endings to the tale of Iphigenia, much depends on the interpretation you choose.” Hannibal shifted slightly on the seat, then chanced a glance at Will. He fished back into his pocket and offered Will an embroidered silk handkerchief. Will snorted at it before grabbing onto it like a lifeline. Of course Hannibal Lecter would remember to keep his monogrammed hankie when he was dumping his bloodied suit.

          “What ending did you choose?”

          “You had a copy of Hamilton on your shelf, I’ve always enjoyed her interpretation.” Hannibal’s mouth quirked, it was a softer expression than Will was used to, there was something fragile about the way the skin crinkled under his eyes. “The girl had vanished, but on the ground beside the altar lay a deer, its throat cut.”

          “Saved at the last minute by Artemis.” Will mopped at his nose with shaking fingers.

          “Artemis took her from those who would destroy her and made her priestess of the Taurians.”

          Will thought back to the book, trying to remember the story the way he’d read it years ago. “In Taurus she consecrated human sacrifices.”

          “From slaughtered to slaughter,” Hannibal’s smile grew and he winked at Will. “A rare journey for a deer.”

          Will focused on drawing air into his lungs. His whole body prickled with energy and his brain seemed to throb with something akin to relief. “Her ear?”

          “A price must be paid for all transformations, Will.”

          “She’s done paying now.” It sounded more like a question than he’d intended. Will felt something desperate battering about in his chest. He wasn’t sure he could protect her from Hannibal or himself anymore.

          Hannibal reached his hand out, waiting for Will to link their fingers. When he did, Hannibal smiled. “I will never again allow harm to come to our family…even Buster.”

          Will convulsed out a surprised laugh, and found he couldn’t stop. His body shook as he laughed and wept, gasping for air the whole time. Will rocked as his body seemed to forcibly expel every last emotion he’d been warring with for years. Through it all, Hannibal held his hand, an anchor that would not allow him to become too untethered. They had crossed the Wilson Drawbridge when Will’s breathing began to even. 

          He found the cellphone by his foot, and retrieved it with numb fingers. Keeping his left hand tightly entwined with Hannibal’s, Will thumbed open the doctor’s phone and hit speed dial number four.

          Tears continued to stream down his face as the line connected. No one spoke.

          “Abigail?” Will could hear a harsh little gasp, but still no words. “It’s- _uh_ \- it’s Will.”

          Still nothing. Will looked to Hannibal who merely smiled and brought Will’s hand to his mouth for a kiss.

          “We’re coming to pick you up, Abigail.” Will tried again, he wondered if she could hear the tears in his voice. “Can you have the bags ready? The ones for contingency two.”

          At that, there was a soft expulsion of breath. “You’re coming with us.”

          Will took a shaking breath before nodding. “Yeah, I’m coming too. Hannibal has a whole plan, apparently.”

          “Boat,” Abigail whispered, before clearing her throat. Her breathing sounded a little unsteady too. “Contingency two means we’re taking the boat.”

          “A family cruise.” Will smiled, smearing tears down his cheeks with the back of his hand. “Sounds like fun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...that was my first serious/angst fic...what did you think? I've been toying with a little continuation, about how Abigail would fit with this lot, but honestly it probably won't be for some time. If you read to the end? Thank you! 
> 
> **Next Up:** A new story! Just in time for Halloween, my riff on the Slasher genre. We'll see if anyone's into that!


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